


Hot Dames and Hot Lead

by alcimines



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-04-13 20:39:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 184,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4536564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcimines/pseuds/alcimines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a noir-ish 1930s alternative universe. Logan and Lehnsherr run the biggest gangs in town. Domino is a hard-boiled private eye. Rogue is her secretary and lover. </p>
<p>Each chapter is a separate case.  And in the first case, the client is the mysterious and beautiful Emma Frost. Surely such a lovely woman couldn't be full of lies? Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

HOT DAMES AND HOT LEAD

I knew she was trouble the second she walked into my office. And if I'd had any sense at all, I should've thrown her pretty little ass right back out onto the sidewalk - and then locked the door and put a bullet into the phone to make sure I never heard from her again. But I'm better known for being lucky than for being smart. Just ask anyone in this town.

She was blonde and beautiful, the ice-cold and damn-near perfect kind of blonde and beautiful that haunts dreams. And she was wearing a designer dress that pretty much screamed, "I'm rich!". Hell, her shoes probably cost more than I make in the average month. People like her - the rich and the beautiful - they aren't like the rest of us. They really don't have to play by the same rules, and more than a few of them don't even pretend to try.

But this dame wasn't just trouble. It was pretty obvious that she was in trouble, too. I could see it in her eyes. She was scared - and her kind of person isn't used to being scared.

Unfortunately, I'm not good at telling people who need help to go away. Maybe it would be better if I was.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" Marie asked coldly. Marie's my Gal Friday, and I couldn't imagine having anyone else doing my typing and filing. Sometimes, when business is particularly slow, the way Marie leans over the desk to pour me a cup of coffee is the only reason I bother to show up at the office.

"You must be Miss Domino," the blonde said to me - completely ignoring Marie.

"Domino," I automatically corrected her. "Or just Dom for short."

She flashed a smile at me. It was a quick and tired smile, but (no surprise) she was one of those people who had the ability to light up a room. I found myself wondering how many men and women had made fools of themselves trying to get a second glimpse of that smile.

I nodded towards where Marie was sitting, "And this is Marie."

The temperature in the office seemed to drop about thirty degrees as Marie and the blonde made minimally polite nods in each other's direction. Neither of them actually bothered to say anything.

"Let's get down to business," I continued hurriedly. "What's wrong?"

"My name is Emma Frost. And I need your help," she said quietly.

I knew the name, of course. The Frost family is big in this town - real big. And Emma Frost's name is a regular in the society pages. And sometimes in the regular news section as well.

"Why don't you sit down, Miss Frost?" I said as I slid a chair in her direction.

"Call me Emma. It's so good to finally be able to talk to you, Domino. You come highly recommended."

Marie gave me a long, hard look that pretty much made it clear what she was thinking. Then she went back to her typing, her eyes glued to the paper as her fingers hammered rhythmically at the keys of her typewriter.

Yikes.

My prospective client gingerly settled her very fine-looking bottom into my least ratty chair, as if she was afraid of catching something from it. My office is pretty small and not exactly expensive furnished. Emma looked way out of place in my office - like a swan in a particularly dank Chicago back-alley.

"So what's wrong, Emma?" I asked carefully.

Emma frowned and said, "There's a man I need you to find. He's a friend and I fear that he is in a great deal of trouble. His name is Dr. Charles Xavier."

That didn't exactly ring any bells. "Never heard of him," I said with a shrug.

Emma nodded, "He avoids publicity. And he runs in social circles that are a bit... different... than those you might be more familiar with. But Dr. Xavier is a good friend, both of myself and my family."

A single perfect tear appeared in the corner of one of Emma's eyes. "He vanished a few weeks ago. And I fear that he's ran afoul of that brute who runs the criminals down on the docks."

Marie was still typing. But she suddenly missed a key. There was a pause. And then she backspaced and began typing again.

"You're talking about Logan?" I asked slowly. I didn't dare look at Marie.

Emma nodded emphatically as she wiped her eyes with a tiny lace handkerchief, "Yes!"

"Why would Logan be involved with a scientist?" I asked with a confused shake of my head. "That's not his kind of thing."

Emma shook her head, looking like the picture of puzzled confusion. "I don't know! But Dr. Xavier told me that he was interested in Logan and his gang. And then he vanished! I think Charles asked one question too many about Logan. I only hope that Charles is still alive!"

I didn't say anything as I considered what Emma had told me. Her story had one thing going for it - it was so weird that it was probably true.

* * *

Emma was gone and her very generous retainer fee was safely tucked into my otherwise empty wallet - minus the fine rendition of Andrew Jackson that I'd given to Marie.

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I'd just finished the first part of the case. That was the part they should teach you in Detective School, but don't. The part where you check out your client's story. After hanging up the phone, I stared at it thoughtfully. I'd made a series of calls that had revealed a startling fact - my client was probably being at least minimally honest with me. A Dr. Charles Xavier had recently arrived in town, and then vanished. In fact, a missing persons report had been filed on him. He was apparently both a friend and an occasional business partner of Emma's father. And the good doctor had been asking a lot of questions about Logan and his gang the week before he pulled his vanishing act - or a vanishing act got pulled for him.

Marie was looking more than a little worried. It was an hour past quitting time and she kept finding excuses to stick around the office.

"Ah don't trust this Frost woman," she finally blurted out. Her southern accent always becomes a little more obvious when she's worried or angry.

"Her story checks out so far," I mused.

"So are you gonna go talk to Logan?" Marie asked worriedly.

I pulled my M1911 .45 automatic out of my shoulder holster and racked the slide to chamber a round. Then I gently lowered the hammer and pulled the magazine out of the grip. Taking a cartridge from a box of ammo that I kept in my desk, I refreshed the clip. Then I slapped the magazine back into the weapon. Normally, it's not a good idea to carry an automatic with a round actually in the chamber, but this was an exceptional circumstance. That extra shot might come in really handy. Grabbing the ankle holster from my bottom drawer, I checked the load of the Smith and Wesson Chief's .357 Magnum Special that was tucked into it. Six hollow point bullets looked back up at me, neatly nestled into their snug little beds and looking strangely eager to come out and play. Snapping the cylinder shut, I strapped the holster onto my left ankle. After that, I grabbed two spare magazines for the .45 and made sure they were fully loaded. I clipped them onto the forward strap of my shoulder holster. A six-inch switchblade completed my ensemble. I tested the action - it flipped open with a clear 'snap' - and then I closed the blade and put it into my pants pocket.

Marie was giving me a fairly deadly look by the time I was done.

"Yeah, I'm going to go have a talk with Logan," I said to her.

"Dom..." she began nervously.

I stopped what she was going to say with a kiss. Like always, she tasted like a slice of heaven. Like always, whenever she was in my arms, I wished I didn't have to ever let her go. Like always, I took my time tracing my fingers along the side of her face, enjoying the smooth freshness of her skin.

"I'll be careful," I said to her. "I promise."

Marie hugged me and didn't say anything.

* * *

There's some history between Marie and Logan. Once upon a time, they were incredibly tight. But she left him because he was never around - the guy has a permanently ingrained restless streak. And Marie isn't the kind to sit around and pine for her missing man.

There's also some history between me and Logan. It mostly consists of a this ongoing cycle in which we fuck like mad for a few weeks, and then try to kill each other for some reason for another. It makes sense if you're not looking at it from the outside.

In our crazy sort of way, Marie and I both care about him. And we're pretty wary of him, as well. I suppose they both come with the territory.

Really, the situation between the three of us is a mess and I don't like to talk about it. But it meant that I was one of the few people in the city who could ask to see Logan and not have to explain why. So that's exactly what I did. I picked up the phone, called Logan's right-hand man - a hulking beast of a man named Hank McCoy - and told him that I needed to talk to his boss.

"You gotta be kidding me," Hank growled back at me.

"It's important," I said back into the phone.

"Dom... you know you ain't exactly Logan's favorite person right now?"

"I know," I said impatiently.

"Look, Dom, you're a smart lady. So why do you keep pushing things with Logan? He's given you break after break. The kinds of breaks he doesn't give anyone else. You know that, don't you?"

Some people call Hank "the Beast". And they have a point. But the guy uses violence to get things done, not because he likes to hurt people. Otherwise, he's a lot smarter than he looks and can be a surprisingly reasonable guy. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what would have happened if Hank had gotten a few different breaks in life.

"I know," I growled, not wanting to admit anything. "Yeah, I'm pushing my luck. But that's what I do, Hank. Pushing my luck is how I make a living."

Hank was silent for a few seconds. And then I heard him sigh. "Okay, he'll be at Remy's tonight. Be there at nine. But you mind your damn manners, Dom! You hear me?"

"Hey, when have I ever been anything less than courteous to Logan?" I asked innocently.

"Does that count the time you shot him?"

"That was self-defense!"

"All he did was kiss you!"

"I don't like it when he kisses me!"

Hank paused and then he chuckled, "Wasn't always like that. Remember that time I caught you and him buck-naked in the backseat of that Packard?"

I could feel my face flush. Conversations with Hank always seemed to go off the rails. Like I said, he's smart.

"That was then. This is now." I snarled back.

"Whatever you say, sweetie," he said dismissively. "But I suggest you keep something in mind: you surprised us last time, Dom. Now we know better. You pull a gun on Logan this time and you'll find yourself on the bottom of a layer-cake made up of hairy, smelly, heavily-armed hard-cases. And I promise I'll be the first guy to jump on top of you."

"Promises, promises," I sighed.

At first, Hank seemed a little shocked at my response. I marked that up under the "win" column. But then he just laughed and hung up the phone.

* * *

Remy's is an establishment that occupies a special place in this burg. It's a legal nightclub and an illegal gambling den. Prohibition doesn't really seem to have any effect on how the place is run. The costumers dress to the nines, while some of the most beautiful women you'll ever see dance on the club's side-stages wearing nothing more than winning smiles. And the music is fantastic - some of the best musicians in town got their start performing on the main stage. I'll say this for Remy, he has both an eye and an ear for talent.

Decent people never admit to going to Remy's, but they go anyway and pretend not to notice the other decent people that they see there. Indecent people, on the other hand, make a point to being seen in Remy's. It's a sign that you're someone of importance. Remy was the place where those two parts of society connect with each another. The deals that are struck in the darker corners of the club can make or break the most important men in the country. And rumor has it that you can buy anything at Remy's. That rumor is more correct, and more ominous, than most people know, because most people don't seem to realize just how scary of a concept "anything" can be.

When I entered the club, a striking black woman named Ororo Munroe was performing on the main stage. She was wearing a floor-length gown of pure white and singing a low and sad tune. She's pretty good. Surprisingly good, given that she's not a professional. In fact, she's one of Logan's more dangerous hitters.

As I walked into the ballroom, Ororo looked directly at me. Her smile was sweet as candy, yet so carnivorous that it would have looked right on the face a tiger. Her presence onstage was a not-terribly-subtle warning from Hank.

I carefully scanned the club. Through the smoky haze of cigarette and cigar smoke, I could see that the place was packed. Ororo didn't perform that often and her fans had turned out for the event. However, it wasn't the normal customers that I was looking for. I wanted to know just what kind of security Hank had set up for his boss. I wasn't looking for trouble, but it was never a good idea to assume that trouble won't come looking for you.

I have to admit that Kurt looked good in a tux. He was sitting at a table near the stage and drinking champagne as he chatted with his usual bevy of pretty young ladies. He nodded pleasantly at me and I nodded back.

Bobby was sitting at the same table as Kurt. He looked like some kid who was hanging out with his more worldly older brother. But they don't call him "Iceman" for nothing. He's one of the coolest costumers you'll ever see in a fight. Oddly enough, when he wasn't kicking down doors and breaking legs for Logan, Bobby kept the books for the gang. Believe it or not, he has a freaking degree in accounting.

I tell you, sometimes there's no figuring people.

Then a nearby cigarette girl deliberately caught my eye. It was Kitty. The outfit she was wearing only involved minimal skin coverage. Despite all my disagreements with her, I couldn't help but enjoy the view.

"Hi, Dom," she said quietly, but with a bright and innocent smile. "Maybe tonight's the night, huh?"

The last time we met, I broke Kitty's nose and she promised to kill me for that. If you knew Kitty, then you knew she wasn't the kind of person who made idle threats.

"Maybe later, sweetie," I replied with a shrug. Kitty just grinned mirthlessly at me as she sold a sweating fat man a fifty cent cigar from her tray of smokables. Kitty may not have been wearing a lot of clothes, but I was willing to bet that there was some serious hardware hidden in the tray she was carrying. The kind of hardware that makes loud banging noises and creates large holes in people. In a fight, Kitty is like a ghost - hard to see and harder to hit. But she didn't seem to have any problem finding her targets. Because she looks like a kid, a lot of people didn't seem to realize just how dangerous she can be.

As I approached Logan's table, I could see that he was wearing his trademark white suit and he was watching me through narrowed eyes. Hank was standing next to Logan's table, looking like a shaved gorilla who had been stuffed into a circus-tent-sized dark suit. He was keeping an eye on everyone who made the mistake of looking for a split-second too long in Logan's direction. Another tough-guy named Scott was brooding in the shadows behind the table. It was dark, but I could barely make him out by the glint of his red sunglasses. You never see him without them.

Just to complete the picture, there were a couple of hotties sitting at the table with Logan. One of them was Mystique. She's an out-and-out assassin - a killer-for-hire without mercy or qualms. She was dressed, as always, in nothing but her trademark blue. Even her eyeshadow and lipstick was blue. That was strange, but I had to admit that she somehow made that work. She and Logan went way back. The other chippie was a Japanese woman in the traditional garb of a geisha. I didn't know her name. And as near as I could tell, she never spoke in anything other than Japanese, and I'd never heard her speak to anyone but Logan. But people call her Deathstrike and the word on the street was that she was just as dangerous as Mystique.

I didn't bother to ask permission before I sat down. Once I was settled into a chair, I looked up at Hank.

"All this for me? I'm flattered."

Hank snorted, "I thought about asking the Mayor to loan me the National Guard, but I wasn't sure where to park the tanks."

Then Hank gave both of us a dead serious look, "You two play nice. I mean it."

Logan's only reply was to give Hank a crooked smile. Then he looked me and asked, "How's Marie doing?"

Like I said, there's a lot of history revolving around me, Marie, and Logan. And that means there's one subject that Logan and I have to be polite about, no matter what.

"She's fine," I replied. "She said to say 'hello'."

That last part was true. Marie had asked me to tell him that just before I left the office.

You know, I can see Logan with either Mystique or Deathstrike. I can see Logan and Ororo. I can even see Logan with me - after all, that's actually happened. But, dear merciful God in heaven, I'll never be able understand Logan and Marie. Or maybe I just don't want to.

Logan nodded slowly as his two lethal and elegantly-dressed bitches tried to stare holes into me.

"I wanted to talk to you about a guy named Xavier," I continued. "Dr. Charles Xavier. The word is that you've had dealings with him."

Logan didn't even blink, "Yeah. He has some crazy ideas about eugenics or something like that."

"'Genetics' not 'eugenics'," I corrected.

Logan shrugged, "Not exactly my thing, Dom. I run a gang. The mad-scientist stuff is for other people. So why're you interested in this guy?"

A pretty waitress was standing next to me. "Bourbon. Straight up," I ordered without looking at her.

"You bet, ma'am!" the waitress answered brightly. I managed to stop myself from turning my head. It was the new girl in Logan's gang. Her name was Kristy Nord. The word was that she was a real up-and-comer. Logan had a good percentage of his heavy hitters here, but despite what I'd said, all of this security wasn't about me. Logan and his bunch were keeping together for a reason. It was going too far to say that they were scared, but something was making them put on a pretty impressive show of force.

"Someone's hired me to find this Xavier guy - he's gone missing. What did he want from you?" I asked.

Again, Logan didn't hesitate. If he was lying, he was doing a fantastic job, "Xavier talks a lot about a race of super-men. But it ain't the usual bullshit - it's not about color, or religion, or crap like that. He thinks something's happened - something to do with that 'genetics' stuff - that's making people be born who are special. People who can do things that regular folks can't."

Kristy put a shotglass in front of me. I immediately downed it and handed it back to her. After all, Logan was buying.

"You say he's not political?" I said slowly. So far, Logan hadn't said anything about the Professor that I hadn't already heard. But it never hurts to have other people go over the same ground again. They might provide a few details you didn't know.

Logan shook his head, "Nah. I can smell a Nazi or a Commie a mile away. He ain't into that, but he's a bookworm with an idea, Dom. And those guys... well... sometimes those bastards can be the most dangerous people you can imagine."

I knew a little about what had happened to Logan just after the Great War. He didn't talk to many people about it, but there was a time when we did. Mostly in bed.

"So this guy's a scientist with a cause," I said reasonably. "What'd he want from you?"

Logan grinned tightly, "He thinks me and my people are what he's looking for - special people who can do special things. He calls it the 'X-Factor', and he says we have it. He wanted to do the lab-rat routine on us: medical exams, blood samples, that kind of thing."

The shotglass was back and I put it to my lips without drinking in an effort to hide my expression. This Xavier guy had come to Logan - of all the damned people on Earth - and then asked him to pee in a bottle, turn his head and cough, and then hop onto an exam table? Dear God in heaven, he obviously didn't have a clue what had happened to Logan up in Canada...

I drank my whiskey and carefully put the empty glass back on the table. Then I asked the only possible follow-up question.

"Did you kill him?" I asked quietly.

Everyone tensed - even the pretty blonde gangster who was reaching for my glass.

Logan took a deep breath before he answered, "No. The guy didn't mean any harm. And he didn't have anything to do with... Look, the guy didn't mean any harm. So I let it go."

Not saying anything, I stared into Logan's eyes, looking for some clue of what to believe.

"Do you think I killed him?" Logan asked. Mystique shifted slightly in her chair. The Japanese woman simply stared at me. Kristy left the shotglass and took a step back, keeping her hands free as she balanced on the balls of her feet, ready for anything.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "There was a time when you didn't much hesitate about that sort of thing, Logan. And it sure sounds like the Doc said just about the dumbest thing anyone could say to you."

"Logan was pretty ticked off," Hank interrupted from off to the side. "But he didn't kill Xavier. And he didn't have anyone else do it."

It's never smart to look away from people like Logan, Mystique, and Deathstrike. So I didn't. Which meant that Logan and I were staring into each other's eyes as I kept asking him questions.

"So why didn't you kill him, Logan?" I asked that so softly that you could barely hear me above Ororo's singing. "He said pretty much the one thing anyone could say to you that's an immediate death sentence."

Logan actually blinked and looked away first. Hey, there's a first time for everything.

"Ororo cooled me off," he said with a nod towards the stage.

I nodded slowly. "So do you know what happened to Xavier?"

Logan shook his head, "No, but I figure he might have tried someone else after I said 'no'."

My eyes narrowed.

"Talk to Pietro," Logan suggested. And that did make an awful lot of sense.

I got to my feet, "Thanks for the drink, Logan."

"Dom..." Logan said suddenly as I began walking away.

I paused and looked back over my shoulder.

Logan seemed to consider his words before speaking again, "Tell Marie that I said 'hi'."

I nodded. "Sure."

Hank tucked my chair back into Logan's table. "If you ever decide that you're tired of free-lancing..." he whispered to me, letting the rest of the sentence hang unsaid.

"I'm not a team player, Hank," I replied. "Even when I try to be one, it just doesn't work out in the long run. I'm not good at doing what I'm told."

Hank just smiled. The man has huge teeth.

As I walked out the door, Ororo and I exchanged glances. She was singing a slow and smoking-hot version of "My Silent Love", a song that had become fairly popular lately.

_"I reach for you like I'd reach for a star,_   
_Worshiping you from afar,_   
_Living with my silent love._   
_I'm like a flame dying out in the rain,_   
_Only the ashes remain,_   
_Smoldering like my silent love._   
_How I long to tell all the things_   
_I have planned._   
_Still, it's wrong to tell,_   
_You would not understand._   
_You go along never dreaming I care,_   
_Loving somebody somewhere,_   
_Leaving me my silent love."_

As I walked out into the parking lot, it occurred to me that out of all the women who had drifted in and out of Logan's life as either lovers or friends, only a few had never given up on him. Unlike the rest, they'd made themselves a part of his constant struggle to be more than a snarling animal. Ororo was one of them.

I definitely wasn't a member of the club. And that suddenly didn't feel right.

* * *

The gunsels who jumped me outside of the club were better than average. And against most people, they would have gotten the job done.

Unfortunately for them, I'm not "most people".

The headlights of a car pulling into the parking lot flickered into a row of parked cars. And that was all it took for me to catch a glimpse of the guy with the shotgun who was crouched between a couple of parked sedans. I immediately dove for cover, yelling at everyone else around me to do the same thing.

Maybe the guy with the shotgun just didn't have a clear shot at me. Or maybe he was too nice of a guy for his line of work and hesitated because of all the people who were crowded around the front of the club. But he had a couple of partners who were carrying handguns, and they either had a better view of me, or didn't care about the possibility of others getting caught in the crossfire.

A storm of bullets split the air around me as I scrambled behind a tall decorative stone wall that framed the walkway into the club. My .45 was already in my hand as more shots slammed into my cover. Bullets were spalling chips of stone and concrete in all directions as I planted the toe of my size eight onto a waist-high decorative lion-head and used it for leverage to pop myself up over the top of the wall. The guys who were after me had assumed that I would appear from one of the sides of the wall. So they never saw me coming. I took out the shotgunner with one shot - he never really did get a chance to shoot - and then dropped back down under cover. I'd seen my shot hit the target directly in center-mass. He was out of the fight, and probably either dead or dying.

I was getting ready for my next scoot-and-shoot when everything went white and my eardrums seemed to cave-in.

It took a few seconds to recover. When I finally got my act together, spots were dancing in front of my eyes and my ears were ringing like distant church-bells.

The night's entertainment was standing in what was left of the front-door of the club. Residual lightning played around her body and ruffled her hair. Some decorative wooden molding on either side of the now shattered front door had caught fire.

Ororo gave me an inscrutable look and said something. I couldn't quite make it out and I shook my head and pointed to one of my ears with the hand that wasn't holding my gun.

"They are gone," she said louder.

That's when I realized that Kurt was standing next to me. With his help, I painfully climbed to my feet. Then I surveyed the wreckage in the parking lot - at least two cars were on fire. Then I turned and gave Ororo a long, steady look.

She wordlessly turned around and walked back into Remy's.

"Are you all right, liebchen?" Kurt asked with a fang-filled grin as he brushed dust off of me - with special attention to the front of my jacket and the seat of my pants, I might note. As per usual, he had appeared out of nowhere. He does that a lot.

"You people have to learn how to be a little more subtle," I groused as I dropped the hammer on my automatic and tucked it back into my shoulder holster. Then I firmly removed Kurt's hands from my body. Maybe under other circumstances...

Kurt grinned at me, and then bent over and retrieved my hat.

"We are indeed not very subtle, Domino. And that is why we are the best we are at what we do. Assuming that it is still intact, may I escort you to your car?"

"Not yet," I said tiredly. "I need to check the bodies and see if I can figure out who they are."

Kurt wordlessly nodded towards the parking lot. Following his gaze, I could see one of the guys who had been shooting at me. Or rather, I could see what was left of him. The only reason I knew he was one of the shooters was because I recognized the little bit of his jacket that was still on his body. There was another body in the middle of the parking lot. A heavy revolver was laying next to it and the clothing on the body was burning merrily.

"Have fun," Kurt laughed. "But I recommend you hurry. The polizei will be here soon. Oh, and it goes without saying that Logan will not like it if you ever again bring one of your fights to his doorstep."

Then Kurt turned on his heel and walked back into the club. I stared daggers into his receding back, but it didn't have much effect.

It was about then that the gas tank in one of the burning cars exploded.

* * *

The parking lot was in flames, but I managed to find one of the guys who'd tried to kill me who was still moderately-alive. There wasn't a lot left of him, but I dragged him away from the blaze anyway. A quick search of his pockets didn't turn up anything except for a tiny amount of cash and some reloads for his handgun.

Actually, that was kind of interesting. This guy was completely clean of any kind of identification. That was a kind of professionalism that wandered away from "I kill for a gang" and into "I kill for a government".

The shooter coughed and whispered something. I put my ear next to his mouth.

"Who are you? Why did you try to kill me?" I asked.

He moaned something and then died.

Sitting next to the corpse, I considered what he'd said.

Phoenix? What the hell was that about? Had I heard him correctly?

There was now quite a crowd standing in front of "Remy's". Some were watching the fire. Some were doing their best to get away. I could see that some of Logan's people were also watching the crowd - looking for anyone whose reaction didn't seem right. They were looking for accomplices to the attack.

Remy himself came out and mingled with the crowd. He gave me a long, dirty look as waiters and waitresses began serving free drinks to the people who were sticking around. I suppose this little incident had cut pretty deep into the night's profit margin.

Off in the distance, I could hear the first sirens.

* * *

Marie sniffed suspiciously, wrinkled her nose, and then said, "You smell like you've been to the world's worst barbecue. What were the serving - hotdogs soaked in gasoline?"

"That's as good a description as any," I replied as I flopped into a chair. In fact, except for the bed and a dresser, the chair was the only furniture in her tiny apartment.

Then Marie suddenly looked nervous, "What happened?"

I shrugged as I kicked off my shoes. My feet were killing me. Wiggling my toes was an almost spiritual experience. "I went to see Logan. We talked. Then, after I left, somebody took a shot at me. Three guys, as a matter of fact. I got one. Ororo took out the other two. Cars burned and exploded. And then the cops came and everyone took turns lying to them. In other words, it was just another epic and marvelous day in Loganland."

"Anybody hurt?" Marie said evenly as she poured me a stiff drink. There was a time when she had been a full-time occupant of "Loganland". In fact, I was the person who'd talked her into leaving.

"Just the shooters," I growled. "Bunch of damned fools, if you ask me. Even if..."

I stopped there because I'd been about to say, "Even if they'd killed me, then they would have had to deal with Logan and his people." There was no point in talking about getting killed. It would just worry Marie.

"Who were they?" Marie continued as she handed me the glass and sat down on the edge of her bed. She was wearing a short and thin robe. And I was pretty sure that - at best - all she had underneath was a pair of panties. You know, having pretty girls who weren't wearing much in the way of clothes hand me whiskey wasn't a bad way to kill time. It was definitely better than having people shoot at me.

"No idea," I answered with a shake of my head. "Thanks to Ororo, there wasn't much left to ID."

"And what did Logan have say?" There's always something in Marie's eyes when she talks about him. I wish I could say that it didn't bother me.

"He did talk to Xavier. It turns out that this Xavier guy is a bug on the subject of people with powers. He wanted to examine Logan and the other people in Logan's gang. But Logan said no."

Marie's eyes narrowed as she considered what I'd said.

"Logan said that he didn't kill Xavier. And I believe him," I added.

Marie nodded and relaxed a little.

"Then he said I should talk to Pietro," I added.

Marie pursed her lips as she thought that over. I have to stop myself from kissing her whenever she does that.

"That makes sense," she said. "If this Xavier guy wants to talk to people with powers, and Logan said no, then Pietro and his bunch are the next best bet."

"Yep," I agreed.

Marie subsided as she thought it over.

Then I got to something I really didn't want to do, but I'd pretty much promised...

"Logan says hello," I said through gritted teeth.

Marie smiled as I did my best to keep a neutral expression on my face. Then she got to her feet.

"You need a bath," she said. Then she vanished into the bathroom and I could hear water splashing into the tub.

I dozed off, but when I awoke, Marie was in the middle of pulling off my pants. She was already heart-attack naked, and I have no idea why God was thinking when he decided to make one woman so perfect.

Then my pants were past my ankles, and Marie efficiently stripped off my used-to-be-white-now-sorta-gray socks. Standing up, she dropped the pants on the bed and tossed the socks in the general direction of her overflowing laundry basket. And I was no longer even a little sleepy as I began fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.

Marie stopped me with a gentle touch.

"I like undressing you," she said with a smile that was as old and mysterious and inviting as Eve.

I nodded and leaned back in the chair.

* * *

Really, the bathtub was too small for both of us. And when we get... uhm... "active", we sometimes splash lots of water onto the bathroom floor. And that pisses off Mr. Mortimer, who lives downstairs. So we try not to do that, but it isn't always easy.

* * *

It was hot and humid when I woke up. I slid carefully out of bed so as not to disturb Marie. Then - naked as the day I was born - I padded over to the only window in Marie's apartment. It looked out over the neon-lit downtown.

It was raining. I cracked the window open to let a whisper of rain-cooled air slide over my bare body. My reflection was visible in the partially-opened window. I stared at my light blue skin, the darker blue birthmark that circled one of my eyes, the stiff hair that I had to keep cut so short, the thin features, the too many scars, and the hard body that didn't really fit the conventional idea of attractive.

I didn't really know what Marie saw in me. And that scared me. Because maybe one day she'd look at me and see what I saw, instead of whatever it was that she thought she was seeing. And what would happen then? Would she leave me?

Would she go back to Logan?

Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the glass of the window. It was wonderfully cool.

"Dom?" Marie quietly called out.

I turned around. "I'm here, sweetie."

She threw the covers off of the bed and sat up. The neon red and orange light that was coming through the window made her body seemed to gleam. And the white streak in her hair looked like a tendril of fire.

"Come back to bed," she ordered. From the way she said it, there was no doubt what she had in mind.

I did as I was told. She took me into her arms and kissed me.

Maybe someday Marie would finally wake up and realize what was real and what was illusion, but tonight wasn't the night.

* * *

"Have you found anything?" Emma asked. The worry she was feeling was obvious even over the phone.

It was just past nine and Marie and I were back in the office. Marie had poured me my first cup of coffee and delivered it with a kiss that could have doubled as a tonsil inspection. Ever since a near-incident involving a surprise visit by the landlord while Marie was performing some under-the-desk amateur gynecology on me, we'd put a strict "no-sex-in-the-office" rule into effect. But kissing and touching was still okay. In fact, we both agreed that it was a necessary part of keeping up office morale.

I shifted the phone to my left hand as I picked up the coffee cup with my right hand. I'm ambidextrous, but some habits persist despite that.

"Logan says he talked to Xavier, but nothing much else happened. Xavier left unmolested and that's the last Logan heard of him," I reported.

"Do you believe him?" Emma asked.

"I don't have any reason not to," I said warily. "And Logan's not given to lying. I sometimes think the cops could close his operation down if they just hauled him in and started asking questions. He has a habit of looking people dead in the eye and saying just whatever the hell is on his mind. And besides, someone tried to kill me right after I talked to Logan. That's probably not a coincidence."

"What!?" Emma yelled.

I took a sip from my coffee, "Three hitmen tried to toe-tag me right after I talked to Logan. Which I guess means that someone's picked up on the fact that I'm looking for the Professor. And they apparently don't want me poking my nose into the wrong places."

"Are you all right?" Emma gasped.

Despite the fact she couldn't see me, I shrugged, "Sure. Actually, one of Logan's people shut down the fight before it got too nasty. That's one of the reasons I don't think Logan's involved."

"So now what?" Emma persisted.

"I'm gonna check on a guy named Pietro. He's a small timer with a lot of big ideas. And he's someone that might have caught the Professor's eye."

"Anything else?"

I thought for a while before responding, "By the way, does 'Phoenix' mean anything to you?"

Emma was silent for a moment, and then said, "Do you mean the town in Arizona?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so. It was something one of the guys who tried to kill me said just before he croaked."

"I'm sorry, Dom, but it doesn't really bring anything to mind."

"Well... maybe it's nothing," I said thoughtfully. "People do say a lot of strange things towards the end."

"Very well, Dom. Thank you for the report. And please keep me posted," Emma replied.

"Will do," I shot back. Then I hung up the phone. You have to keep in touch with the clients, but it's a good idea to be as brief as possible. Otherwise, the clients began to get the idea that they should be a more direct part of the investigation. And that could get awkward in a hurry.

I drained my coffee cup and got to my feet.

"Pietro?" Marie asked, looking at me as she filed away receipts on some very recently paid bills.

"Pietro," I replied.

* * *

Pietro was soaking wet, naked, and more than a little surprised.

"Don't even think about running," I said as I pressed the muzzle of my automatic between his eyes.

Pietro gave my gun a cross-eyed look... and then he looked past it at me and gulped.

"Domino! Uhm... hello?" he said hesitantly. Actually, he wasn't doing too bad for a guy who'd just stepped out of the shower and had a gun shoved into his face. Pietro's brave and stubborn. It's just that he's not very smart.

It's usually tough to find Pietro. And it's even tougher to hold onto him once you've got him. So you have to set the stage and play all of the angles if you want to catch him and keep him.

In this case, the stage was the small and very messy bathroom in Mortimer Toynbee's small and very messy apartment. Pietro and Mortimer were pretty close, so it was a good bet that Pietro would eventually show up there for a booty call. In this case, I'd gotten lucky (big surprise) and Pietro just happened to be at Mortimer's place when I checked it out.

That's how Pietro came to make the acquaintance of my automatic as soon as he got out of the shower. The bathroom was pretty tight, and that meant Pietro didn't have any room to maneuver. That was definitely in my favor, but even that wasn't enough. Just to make sure I had him, I reached down with my free hand and took a firm grip of a part of Pietro's anatomy that's very near and dear to him.

"If you try to run off, this stays behind," I said flatly.

Pietro swallowed hard.

"What did you do with Mortimer?" he asked nervously. What do you know? Pietro actually does think about somebody besides himself.

I jerked my head towards the bedroom, "He's handcuffed to the radiator. By the way, thanks for the ball-gag. It came in handy."

Pietro winced and then he shook his head, "Come on, Dom! What the hell is wrong with you? We used to be friends!"

The was the wrong thing to say. I squeezed and Pietro yelped. I'm pretty sure it was more a matter of surprise than pain - I hadn't really been too rough on him. But Pietro is one of those guys who has to learn everything the hard way. I had to make sure he understood who was in charge, and that I wasn't screwing around.

"We used to be on the same team!" I yelled back at him, my anger finally bubbling to the surface. "But you sold me out, Pietro! Remember?"

Pietro took a shaky breath, "That was a misunderstanding!"

This time I went for pain instead of surprise. Pietro's scream was much more heartfelt.

"You know something?" I snarled at him. "You sound just like a little girl when you scream. And if you keep jerking me around, I just might make that into a permanent condition. And just for the record, leaving me to face a big chunk of the Mexican Army all by myself was not a damned 'misunderstanding'! You hung me out to dry!"

He held his hands up helplessly, "For pity's sake, Dom! Let's talk about this like reasonable people!"

"Sure," I said as I kept a good grip on the family jewels and a gun in his face. I could be completely reasonable while not giving him an inch of leeway.

Pietro sighed.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, Pietro," I said sweetly. "But before I do, I want you to ask yourself the following question: what am I going to do to you if I decide that you're lying?"

There was a brief pause as Pietro considered the range of terrible options.

"What do you want to know?" he asked resignedly.

* * *

It turned out that Pietro had heard of Xavier. And he was definitely interested in talking to him. But he swore to me that he'd never actually met Xavier and hadn't even known that he was missing, much less who might have snatched him. Since his generative organs were at stake, I was pretty sure Pietro was telling the truth.

I handcuffed Pietro to the radiator, right next to Mortimer. Then I took off the ball-gag that was in Mortimer's mouth. Hey, there's no point in being needlessly cruel.

"Uhm, Dom?" Mortimer said timidly. He wasn't wearing much - a black-leather harness-thing was around his surprisingly well-defined chest and a matching pair of shorts. Crotchless shorts. I made him wrap a sheet around his waist before I locked him up.

"Yeah?" I replied. Actually, I was surprised that Mortimer was willing to talk to me. I was pretty tough on him back when we were on the same team. Towards the end, he seemed terrified of me.

"These cuffs are a little loose. Just thought you'd want to know."

"Oh, for God's sake, Mortimer!" Pietro snarled.

I checked the cuffs, and Mortimer was right. The problem was that the cuffs were the kind you use for playtime, not for serious restraint.

"I don't think there's anything I can do. They're just not very good handcuffs," I told Mortimer.

Mortimer nodded understandingly, "Yeah. That's okay, Dom. Business hasn't been so hot. We're having to cut corners."

"Mortimer..." Pietro said through gritted teeth.

I gave Pietro a hard look, "Hey, cut it out. Mortimer and I are having a civilized conversation here."

Still fuming, Pietro subsided.

"I'll call Fred and tell him to pick you guys up," I said to Mortimer.

He sighed in relief, "Thanks, Dom. Uh... could you tell him it's no hurry?"

Feeling strangely virtuous, I replied, "No problem."

"I'm surrounded by idiots and maniacs," Pietro said mournfully as Mortimer snuggled up against him.

I turned to leave.

"Can I at least have some clothes?" Pietro shouted after me.

I looked over my shoulder.

Mortimer caught my eye and said with a sly grin, "No. He's just fine."

Okaaaaay...

"Uhm, yeah," I said.

As I walked out the door, Pietro was muttering curses and threats. On the other hand, Mortimer seemed pretty happy with the situation.

Walking away from Mortimers's apartment building, I couldn't help but notice that my case was increasingly getting nowhere. So far, the only sign of progress was the fact that somebody had tried to kill me. And there weren't that many people that fit the criteria of being the type that Xavier would find interesting. I was running out of people to talk to.

Except for one. One that I'd rather avoid.

I took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. I really didn't have a lot of choice.

This was going to be dangerous. And I better not tell Marie what I was planning. She wouldn't let me do it.

* * *

Visiting Erik is always an experience. Like a lot of people, he had pretty good set of reasons to be unhappy with me, so I knew he wouldn't be receiving me with open arms and a big smile. And I wasn't terribly surprised when I eventually found myself manacled upside down to an iron wall. A very cold iron wall, I might add.

"Domino... it is such a surprise to see you," Erik said thoughtfully. He was wearing one of his specially tailored dark-purple suits. Yeah, I know that sounds kind of fruity, but believe me, Erik makes it work.

Erik Lensherr was the only guy who had an organization that was comparable to Logan's. So far, they'd more-or-less kept their distance from one another. But when you got down to it, this town really wasn't big enough for the two of them. One day, they would inevitably duke it out. My plan was to be on an extended vacation with Marie when that finally happened. Maybe in Hawaii or Tahiti or someplace like that.

"It's funny," I said as calmly as I could manage - Erik has an almost pathological respect for coolness under pressure - "just a little while ago I was talking to Pietro. The situation was strangely similar."

Erik raised an eyebrow. Pietro is his son.

"And how is Pietro doing?" he asked interestedly.

I decided that it wasn't time to tell Erik that his only son had a boyfriend - and was dressing him in a crotchless black-leather pony-boy outfit. Complete with tail. You don't want to know the details about the tail.

"He seemed a little put out the last time I saw him," I replied honestly enough.

Erik made a disgusted face, "Is he still associating with those... individuals?"

"You mean Mortimer, Fred, and Dominic?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. He is. Uh, Erik, this upside-down bullshit is giving me a headache."

He didn't say or do anything, but I slowly rotated right-side up. It was a relief to feel the blood draining from my head. Of course, 'do the prisoner a small kindness that could be easily reversed,' was one of the first lessons of 'Interrogation 101'. Erik and I had apparently read the same manual.

"You know, letting me all the way down would be kinda nice..." I suggested.

Erik just shrugged and said, "You have demonstrated a tendency to manifest unpleasant suprises, Domino. I prefer having you in a position where you cannot suddenly bring concealed weapons into the conversation."

I sighed, "Are you still pissed off about Boston?"

He paused and took a deep breath before replying, "You beat me with a baseball bat, Domino. Then you kicked me in the face while I was lying on the ground. Then you stole my wallet."

"That was just business," I declared heatedly. "It was nothing personal."

"None-the-less, I took it quite personally," Erik said in a tone of voice that managed to combine offended dignity, hurt feelings, and the distinct possibility that he was going do something really horrible to me.

"Have you ever heard of a guy named Charles Xavier?" I asked hurriedly. I needed him to be thinking about something - anything - else than past disagreements.

"I'm asking the questions here, Domino," Erik said mildly. The manacles on my wrists - which were really just short lengths of chain controlled by Erik - tightened suggestively.

"Okay," I said quickly.

He nodded, "So... why did you come here?"

"To ask you about Charles Xavier," I answered without hesitation. Hey, it was a completely correct answer.

Erik sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Headache?" I asked sympathetically.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Oddly enough, I tend to develop one whenever you are around."

"Sorry."

Then Erik opened his eyes again and looked at me, "You know, Domino, the 'in the clutches of a master villain'-experience usually involves a little more fear on the part of the prisoner. You simply are not doing your part."

I shrugged. That's hard to do when you're spread-eagled, but I managed. "Sorry. Do you want me to cry or something?"

He thought about that, "No. I wouldn't believe it was real."

"How about if I begged for mercy?"

He sighed, "Likewise. That's just not you."

Then Erik made a negligent-looking gesture. The chains around my hands and feet fell away and I dropped about a yard to the stone floor. I landed on the balls of my feet, in a crouch.

"What do you want to know about Charles Xavier?" Erik asked interestedly.

"Do you know where he is?" I asked as I rubbed the kinks out of my shoulders.

"He has isolated himself with a young lady named Jean Grey."

I raised an eyebrow at Erik, "They're shacked up?"

Erik actually looked offended at what I'd said, "I believe their relationship is more one of student-and-teacher than what you are implying. As I understand it, Miss Grey has manifested some abilities that are of interest to Doctor Xavier."

"So where are they?"

"The last I heard, in a rented estate just outside of town. I do not know the address, but I'm sure you can unearth it. Apparently Doctor Xavier prizes his privacy, so he's being quite secretive."

I frowned at him, "Why do you know all of this?"

"That is none of your business, Domino."

There wasn't really a lot I could say to that.

Erik turned away from me. The door he was walking towards swung open on its own. "Get out," he said. "And do not come back here. Ever."

"Nice talking to you, Erik," I said to his back as he left the room.

* * *

"I should kick your ass!" Marie yelled at me. Trust me when I say this - Marie can yell with the best of them. Come to think of it, she can also kick ass with the best of them.

"Not now, Marie. Please," I answered tiredly.

"It's bad enough that you went to see Logan! But, ERIK!? Are you out of your mind?"

"I had to do it," I said as reasonably as I could manage.

Marie sat down in her chair with a defiant thud. Her arms were firmly crossed over her breasts and there were tears in her eyes. "Oh... bullshit! You like that sort of thing, Dom! You like taking crazy chances!"

I opened my mouth and then slowly shut it. What was I going to say? Tell the truth and agree with her? Or lie and say she was wrong? Neither one seemed terribly smart at the moment.

"I'm sorry," I said - well aware of how lame that sounded, "but I am who I am, Marie. The trail was getting cold, and it was going to just plain freeze solid unless I talked to Erik. And he gave me what I needed."

She didn't say anything. But she wasn't giving me an inch. She never does.

"I called in some favors and talked to some of Logan's people," she finally said.

I... didn't like the sound of that, but Marie was a grown woman and had a right to talk to whoever she wanted to. And she still had a lot of friends in Logan's crew - like Logan himself.

"You were right about how tense they are," Marie continued, running a hand through her hair as she did so. "The word's been out for a while - people with powers have been disappearing. Somebody is after psychics in particular. But every now and then they pick off somebody who has abilities that are psychic-like - precogs, and far-seers for example. That's why Logan and his people are travelling in packs."

"I see," I said with a short nod of my head. "Thanks. That's interesting."

Then I sat down at my desk and picked up the phone. I knew a guy down at the county records office.

* * *

Believe it or not, Xavier had bought a mansion. The place was located just outside of the city, and it was huge. Once upon a time, an "old-money" family had lived there, but the family line more-or-less died out a few decades back. According to my source in the records office, Dr. Xavier got a darn good deal.

"I remember talking to the realtor," my contact told me. "He said working with Xavier was just plain scary. It was like the guy could read minds or something."

I said something suitably bland in reply. Then I got the address information and hung up.

"I got 'em," I said to Marie after I was done. She'd come down far enough from her snit to look interested.

I told her what I'd found out.

"Now what?" Marie asked.

"I get my muscular - yet lovely - ass out there and check it out," I replied reasonably enough.

"Why?" Marie asked bluntly. "The job was to find Xavier. You found him. Give Frost a call, tell her what you know, and that she owes you the rest of the payment for the job by the end of the week."

That made me hesitate. After all, Marie was mostly right...

Then I shook my head, "I've got a strong lead here, but I need to make sure. I have to check everything out and see if there hasn't been any confusion or mistakes. And I have to make sure that Xavier is actually in residence. Then I can call Emma."

Marie examined me closely as I mentally kicked myself for calling our rather attractive client by her first name.

"Okay," Marie said with a wary nod. "That makes sense."

"Damn right it does," I said busily. Then I gave her a long kiss and bolted for the door.

* * *

My guy at the county office wasn't understating the new Xavier place. It was huge. Of course, a place that big normally needs a staff to run, clean, and maintain it. As far as I knew, Xavier and his "student" were the only people there. So all I had to do was wait for sunset, and then look for the lights.

The mansion itself was dead, but there was a small house separate from the mansion itself. Back in the day, it had probably been quarters for the grounds-keeper or some other kind of servant. There was light coming out of a couple of first-floor windows.

I ghosted my way across the grounds of the mansion. I'm good at that sort of thing. Then I peered through a ground-floor window that was obligingly not shuttered.

Bingo.

An older man, bald and in a wheelchair, was seated at a table with a pretty redhead. A pair of floor lamps provided light, a ceiling fan rotated lazily, and a radio was softly playing a Glen Miller tune. They were running through a test of some kind using Zenner cards. You know... those cards with the symbols on them? One person looks at the symbol, while the other person tries to guess what the other is looking at?

Of course, for some people, there's no guessing involved. Instead, it's something else.

Which brought me to "enough is enough." I was trying to be sneaky around two people with powers of the mind. That's not a good idea. Since I had what I needed, I immediately began backing out of the area.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

How do you deal with someone like Xavier and Grey? Obviously it wouldn't be easy. And the dumbest way to do it would be to send men in after them. Purely as a tactical exercise, I'd considered the issue over the years. I kept coming back to the same answer: you hit psychics from a distance. You don't give them a chance to bring their special abilities to bear. You strike from outside of the range of their powers, and you strike hard.

As I was trying to pull out of the area, I heard the distinctive "ka-chunk, ka-chunk" of light mortar fire. The mortars must have been pretty close, because within just a few seconds the first gas shells began impacting around the house.

I managed to get a few hundred yards away before the gas finally knocked me out.

* * *

I woke up in disorganized stages, fading in and out of reality multiple times. To this day, I don't have a clue what kind of gas they used. But whatever it was, it did quite a number on me - and gave me one hell of a hangover to boot.

With a groan, I rolled over. A chain padlocked around my neck clinked and clattered. It was secured to a heavy metal staple that was set into the concrete floor. I was lying in what looked like a really big basement. A bare-bulb hanging from the ceiling provided some stark light, but I couldn't see the full extent of the room. My clothes were gone and I was cuffed at the wrists and ankles. My hands were secured behind my back. Taking a good look at the cuffs around my ankles, I noticed they were pretty good quality.

"You know, this job features a little more bondage than usual," I muttered to myself.

"I'm afraid that tends to happen around me," a woman's amused voice said from off to the side.

Looking up, I saw my lovely client sitting cross-legged in a battered wooden kitchen chair. The chair looked like it had been used to tame lions. However, I must say that Emma looked fantastic. She was wearing a daring outfit - kinda 19th centuryish - that showed a lot of creamy white skin among scattered bits of white leather and satin. It was definitely a good look for her.

The chain running from my neck to the floor rattled as I struggled into a sitting position. The floor was cold and gritty under my bare skin.

It occurred to me that karma was getting me back for what I'd done to Pietro and Mortimer.

"Hi, Emma," I said tiredly. "Don't you think this is just a little too much?"

Emma firmly shook her head, "Domino, I have far too much respect for you to even consider giving you the slightest semblance of a chance."

"Then how about telling me what's going on?" I shot back at her.

She shrugged, "The Inner Circle - the organization that I am a member of - has a considerable interest in Dr. Xavier and Miss Grey. Especially Miss Grey. We knew Xavier had contacted her, but we lost all track of them afterwards. Finding them was a very high priority."

"So you hired a detective to track them down," I finished for her.

"As a matter of fact, I hired the best detective in town," Emma said with catlike amusement.

"I'm flattered, but I'm here to tell you that it wasn't that hard to find Xavier and the girl. It doesn't look good for you and your outfit that you couldn't figure it out on your own."

She didn't seem insulted, "Actually, I have to agree. If the Inner Circle has a serious flaw, it's a certain tendency to look for esoteric explanations and solutions instead of commonplace ones. We assumed that two missing psychics would have to be found via more exotic means than asking questions and checking real-estate listings."

I frowned, "How do you know how I found them?"

Emma didn't respond. She just smiled. And suddenly, despite all the fuzziness in my head, something clicked.

"You're a psychic, too," I said.

She seemed delighted at my cleverness, "I periodically read the mind of your charming secretary and lover. Since you tell her everything, actual reports from you weren't really required - although I did appreciate the ones you gave me. It was from Marie that I got the address where Dr. Xavier and Miss Grey were staying."

"Okay... but who were the guys who tried to take me down at the nightclub? They don't seem to fit in anywhere."

Emma looked disgusted, "There are other groups besides the Inner Circle who are interested in Charles Xavier and what he is seeking. Apparently there was a leak somewhere on our side - and one of those groups found out that you were working for us. They decided to slow us down by killing you. Fortunately, they underestimated you and only sent a few common thugs. My apologies for the mistake."

"Gee, thanks," I grumbled.

"If it makes you feel better, the individual responsible for the leak has paid a very high price for his foolishness."

I nodded slowly, "Great. But there's a more immediate issue - now that I've found Xavier and Grey, what happens to me?"

For the first time, Emma seemed to hesitate.

"The Inner Circle doesn't like loose ends," she finally said.

My mouth went dry as I took another look at the cuffs on my ankles. Yep, they were really, really good handcuffs.

"But there is one way out," Emma continued.

I sighed, "Let me guess: I have to work for you."

Emma nodded, "I'm quite impressed with your talents, Dom. You're very useful."

"Go to hell," I spat.

"Oh, stop it, Dom. In the end, you're going to agree to work for me."

"And why's that?" I challenged,

"Because Marie is another loose end," Emma said calmly. "And neither one of us wants anything to happen to her."

And just like that, she'd won the argument. I slumped in defeat, and it was real. I was out of plans, tricks, and - apparently - wild lightning-strikes of luck.

"What does working for you mean?" I asked bitterly. "Do I end up being your personal gun-slinger, or do you have something kinkier in mind? Something else that goes along with your 'Betty Paige in White' look?"

Emma gave me an enigmatic look, "I'm sure I'll find all sorts of uses for you, Dom."

Then she put an image in my mind. It was... intimate. And sexy. And scary.

Me and my big mouth. And why the hell had I said that anyway? The idea of Emma and me...

"Actually, you really don't mind the idea at all," Emma added seriously. "I've put a lot of time, effort, and money into becoming a very attractive woman, Dom. And everyone has a submissive streak. In fact, I excel at finding it. Like many people, you just want an excuse to let yours out - like saving someone who's dear to you. That way you can be a virtuous martyr who has no choice but to serve me with complete devotion."

Oh, for Pete's sake.

"You're nuts," I growled. "And, by the way, get the hell out of my mind!"

"Actually, I do rather like that fantasy you keep having," Emma mused. "The one where you and Marie bathe and massage me - and then afterwards perform for my amusement on a candle-lit stage."

"Cut it out," I said dismissively. I wasn't thinking about any such thing until she mentioned it. She was putting things in my head. Right?

Right?

Emma laughed and got to her feet. Standing next to me, she ran a gloved hand through my hair. I tried to bite her, but I was still weak and woozy from the drugs.

"I'll tell you what," she said archly. "Once this matter with Xavier and Grey is settled, I'll be back. And then the two will discuss your future as my servant and agent. I think it will be fun. We'll make a day of it."

Then she knelt next to me and pressed her lips to mine. I resisted for maybe a second. And then my body was pressing eagerly against hers and my tongue was enthusiastically probing her mouth.

Emma purred in surprised delight.

I nuzzled against the side of her face, my tongue sliding through her long hair so I could tease her ear. She had one hand on the chain around my neck, so she could control me better. The other hand was cupping one of my breasts as her thumb flicked my nipple.

"Really, Dom, I assumed this would take a little more time," Emma laughed. And then her free hand slid slowly down my body and between my legs. I spread my knees so it would be easier for her to do whatever she wanted to me.

I lost myself in sensation, blanking my mind and letting raw passion and pure heat take over. As I gently bit and nibbled Emma's face and shoulders, she expertly teased me to orgasm.

It didn't take long. Crying out as I reached climax, I buried my face against Emma's shoulder.

Emma laughed and used the chain around my neck to pull me back. For a long moment, she simply looked into my eyes. Then she kissed me long and hard.

"My turn next time," Emma whispered. Then she put an image in my mind that made me gasp in a combination of lust, surprise, fear, and eagerness.

Emma kissed me again, and then she got up and walked out of our circle of light and back into the darkness. A very solid-sounding door slammed behind her.

* * *

After she left, I spat onto the floor the pin I had pulled from Emma's cloak with my teeth. It was a pretty and expensive-looking thing: an inch-long length of silvered steel pin topped with a cloudy-white, but flawless, diamond.

It's hard to fool a psychic. After all, they can look right into your head. But there are things that will distract anyone made up of flesh and bone. Emma wanted me. So I gave her what she wanted, and Emma lost track of a few details in the process.

I could smell Emma's perfume still on my body. That was... distracting, but I gritted my teeth and firmly ignored the part of me that wanted Emma to come back and start all over again.

Damn, she did that to me on a cold concrete floor. I didn't dare imagine what she was like in an actual bed. Psychics like Emma can do incredible things to you. After all, they know exactly what you're feeling. They know what's working and what isn't. They can play your body like a master musician can work an instrument with which they've had long and intimate experience.

Sitting on the floor seemed like too much effort, so I collapsed down onto my side. It was crunch time. I needed a break and I needed it now. I carefully tested the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, but there was no joy. Whoever had cuffed me - probably Emma herself - knew what they were doing. The cuffs on my wrists were wide enough, and put on just tight enough, so that the trick where you break your thumbs in order to wiggle loose wouldn't work.

Likewise, the wrist cuffs didn't have a lot of play between them. That was deliberate. That was to make it hard for a prisoner to shove their wrists down and around their legs. A prisoner with their hands cuffed behind them has a lot less options than a prisoner with their hands in front.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then another one. What I was about to do was going to hurt.

Using a trick a New York boy named Savage taught me, I deliberately dislocated my left elbow. And... yeah... that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I didn't even try to hold back my scream. After that, I wiggled around until I managed to twist and squeeze my lower body through the loop of my arms.

I was sobbing by the time I reset my elbow, but my hands were now in front of my body.

After letting myself rest for a minute, I painfully picked up Emma's pin and began working on the lock in the in my wrist cuffs. Contrary to what a lot of people think, it's actually pretty tough to pick the lock on a good pair of handcuffs. In fact, it's more a matter of crazy good luck than skill.

I laughed out loud as the left-hand cuff clicked open.

* * *

I was free, but the only thing I was wearing was a few traces of Emma's perfume and lipstick. The idea that she had somehow marked me was stuck in my head. I actually think I would have held off on my escape attempt if I'd come across someplace to wash-up.

The door to the cellar wasn't locked, but there were two guards in the hallway. They were wearing some kind of blue and red uniforms. The way they moved and held their weapons suggested to me that they were the real thing: trained soldiers, not uniformed thugs.

Damn.

I opened the door just as one of the guards walked past. I was naked. He was male. That gave me all the time I needed to kick him in the face.

The other guard was either more dutiful or gay. A bullet burned past me and slammed into the corner of the door. He was shooting high because he didn't want to hit his buddy, who was currently slumped in my arms. That was admirable enough that I made a mental note not to kill him. I did a fast-draw on the pistol the unconscious guard was carrying in his belt. It was a .44 revolver. Not my weapon of choice, but a very serious and respectable shooting-iron none-the-less.

The slug from my new revolver hit the other guard in the thigh as he was lining up his second shot on me. He went down with a scream, frantically clutching at his now-spurting leg.

I took off at a run, vaulting over the other guard on my way to the stairs.

* * *

The grease monkey gawped helplessly at me as I pointed my revolver at his face.

"Give me your clothes and a dime," I ordered. I was standing in a lonely gas-station on the edge of town. It was about a mile from the old textile factory that Emma had stashed me.

The old man gulped and then did as he was told.

"Been a while since a women told me to strip," he said with rueful shake of his head as he handed me his pants and shirt. He was left with a pair of boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his sixties.

"Was she pointing a gun at you?" I asked as I pulled the pants on.

"Nope. Didn't have to."

I glanced down. He was a small guy and his feet were about the same size as mine. "The shoes, too. You can keep your socks and underwear. In fact, I demand you keep your underwear."

"Gee, thanks, lady," he grumped as he kicked his shoes towards me. "Oh, and there's a dime in the left front pocket," he added.

I pulled it out, then I hurriedly stuffed it into a nearby payphone.

It started ringing as I waited impatiently.

"C'mon!" I finally yelled on the eighth ring.

And then - thank God - Marie picked up the phone.

"What?" she said irritably.

"Sweetie, it's me," I said as fast as possible. "Get out now. Right now. And get to Logan."

There was a split-second silence.

"Dom, are you..." she began.

"I'm in the Lewiston Garage on Highway 7! Now go find Logan!" I screamed into the phone and hung up. There was no time for talking.

I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye.

The gas station had a big plate-glass window. It exploded inward from a Tommy-gun burst. I managed to drag the old guy down with me when I hit the floor. Otherwise, he would have been shot to pieces,

I shoved the old guy under the counter. "Stay down!" I screamed at him as I rolled towards the garage. I'd noticed a back door behind the service pit.

Two guys in blue and red smashed through the front door while their buddy with the Tommy gun kept firing short bursts of supressive fire into the front office. I shot the first guy in the face. The second tried to dodge off to the side and took two slugs to the chest.

Then I finished rolling into the garage and lunged for the back door.

* * *

I led the Inner Circle soldiers on a merry chase for about a half-hour. What the cops were doing while a running gun-battle took place all up and down that highway, I can't tell you. But they didn't bother to show up. I figure the Inner Circle must have long-since paid them off.

But they finally cornered me about a mile away from the gas station. I'd dodged down an alleyway that turned out to be dead end. I'd long since had to trade in the .44 revolver for a panty-waist .38 revolver - the second guy I managed to scavenge a weapon from didn't have the good taste of the guy back in the factory. And unfortunately, his carbine - a much better weapon - had been smashed by one of my .44 rounds.

I'd killed enough of the Inner Circle troopers to know that they weren't going to be in a forgiving mood. Flipping open the cylinder of the .38, I confirmed that I only had a single round left.

There was a throbbing ache in my right thigh where I'd been creased hard by a rifle slug. It wouldn't stop bleeding. The knife wound running down the left side of my torso was also bleeding merrily. My left elbow still hurt from when I'd dislocated and reset it. And I had easily a dozen cuts - big and small - from back when the plate glass window of the gas station was shot to pieces. Ignoring all of that as best I could, I aimed my gun at the mouth of the alley. There wasn't much light and the Inner Circle shooters couldn't see me, but they would be backlit by streetlights when they entered.

The first man did a short dash to cover behind a dumpster. A second guy tried to follow and I shot him. He went down with a yell. Shooting the second or third guy in a rush is always more effective - it causes more confusion. Then I immediately fell back deeper into the alley just before a half-dozen weapons opened up roughly in my general direction.

By the time I finished backing up, my back was literally up against a wall. I had broken bottle in one hand and a snarl on my face. And the only thing going through my head was a prayer the Marie was with Logan. He'd protect her. He'd...

And then the shooting from the mouth of the alley turned into shouting and screaming.

There was a loud crack and a flare of lightning, and silence descended. And then Logan walked into the alley.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, Logan! It took you long enough!" I yelled at him.

Looking right at me - he doesn't need as much light as most folks - Logan said dryly, "Bringing a busted bottle to a gun fight? That's not like you, Dom. You're usually smarter than that."

"Screw you and the snikt you rode in on!" I snarled as I dropped the bottle. It hit the alley floor and smashed to pieces.

Logan just chuckled as two more members of his crew entered the alley behind him: Warren and Ororo. That made sense, of course. On the surprising side, they were holding hands. I swear, there's just no telling with people.

Marie followed them. She looked anxious as all hell. And she was wearing the outfit she used to wear when she was a part of Logan's gang.

"Dom?" she called desperately. Unlike Logan, she couldn't see me.

"I'm fine," I said to her just before I collapsed.

* * *

We were holed up in a fair-to-lousy hotel. I was lying on a bed whose light-yellow coverlet was steadily acquiring dark-red smears. I was sipping some really crappy whiskey from a cracked water tumbler. Meanwhile, Marie and Mystique dressed my wounds as Logan and Hank asked me questions. Ororo and Warren were outside - and probably a couple of hundred feet straight up - keeping an eye out.

"So who the hell is this 'Inner Circle' outfit?" Logan demanded.

"Damned if I know," I replied impatiently. "But they want Xavier and Grey for some reason. And they've got 'em."

Logan and Hank looked at one another. Then Logan shrugged.

"None of our business," he growled. Great. Mr. "what's it to me?" was about to walk away from this mess just as it was finally breaking open.

"You're probably right," I said with a nod of my head. "It's not really any of your business."

Logan looked at me suspiciously. "I'm glad you agree," he said eventually.

I took a long slug from my glass. It burned down my throat like a rivulet of fire. "They probably have both of them chained up, just like they had me," I added.

Logan didn't say anything as he looked right at me. Next to him, Hank rolled his eyes upwards, but didn't say or do anything to stop me.

"They took my clothes and cuffed me hand and foot. And they had a chain around my neck. The other end of the chain was secured to the floor," I continued.

Nobody said anything, but now Mystique's hands were shaking so bad that she dropped the first-aid kit. Then she gave me a long look and picked it up off the floor. Logan was still staring, but it wasn't exactly at me. He was staring beyond me. Staring into a past that I didn't really want to imagine. I...

I didn't like what I was doing to them. In fact, I felt more than a little ashamed. But it had to be done.

"It was like I was some kind of animal," I continued softly. "And that's probably what's happening to Xavier and Grey."

Logan and Mystique looked at one another. I didn't even try to guess what kind of silent communication they exchanged.

Hank didn't bother to ask Logan what to do next. He just got to his feet and reached for the phone.

"I'll get everyone together," he said quietly.

Still not saying a word. Still staring back at some hell that would never quite go away. Logan nodded.

* * *

They sent me home. And Marie insisted on moving me into her place. Believe me, I didn't fight the idea.

Back in her apartment, Marie promptly began fussing over me; fluffing pillows, straightening blankets, and fetching things. And all the while she was going on and on in her worried southern accent, asking me if I needed anything. Anything at all.

I thought about that and grinned as I made a request. With my hand to God, I swear I actually made her blush.

"Maybe when you're feeling better," she said eventually.

"Okay. But don't forget the whipped cream," I chuckled.

She smiled at me. And everything was suddenly right in my world.

Eventually, Marie and I would need to have a conversation that would sort of boil down to, "Honey, I think you should know this: Emma stripped me naked, chained me to the floor, and then did terribly degrading sexual things to me - it was great!" It wasn't too hard to figure what would happen next. Marie would get mad and call me a slut while I protested that I hadn't had any choice. Then she'd ask if I loved her, and I would swear that I did. Then she would stop talking to me and I'd have to spend a few nights in my own apartment. And then she'd forgive me and we'd have incredibly hot, sweaty, make-up sex for a solid week - over and over again. Sex in the bed, in the bath, on the floor, on the fire-escape, in my car, in the office (screw the rules), and probably in a few random alleyways, doorways, and rooftops.

I could hardly wait. Damn, it was good to be alive.

Then Hank knocked on the door and walked into Marie's apartment.

"Hi, Rogue," he said to Marie. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey! Quit making time with my girl!" I yelled at him. "And what the hell do you want?"

He looked at me skeptically. "Huh. Since you're feeling so fiesty, then you won't mind taking care of something for us," he said.

I gave him the evil eye. He ignored it. It's just about impossible to intimidate Hank.

"We took care of your Inner Circle problem," Hank said gruffly. Just a reminder that I had, after all, put myself in Logan's debt.

So I settled back into my bed. Marie's bed. Our bed. And I asked, "What do you want, Hank? I'm not going to be doing any running, jumping, and shooting for a while. And how did it go with Xavier and Grey? Are they okay?"

"We got them," Hank said. "And they're fine. In fact, it turns out Grey is quite the cutie. Right now, she's hanging around with us. On the other hand, Xavier is still a stuck-up pain-in-the-ass. We're putting up with him for now."

"Any idea what the hell the Inner Circle was doing?"

Hank shrugged, "They had some kooky idea that psychics can summon a powerful thing that kicks professional-league psychic ass. They call it the 'Phoenix'."

I saw no reason to mention that I'd heard that word before, so I sighed and said, "That sounds suspiciously like some sort of religious nut-job bullshit."

Hank nodded, "Looks like it."

I noticed that he hadn't exactly agreed 100% with what I'd said.

"So what does Logan want from me?" I asked.

Hank smiled savagely, "Most of the Inner Circle decided to fight us. I got to admit, it was a tougher than I thought it would be. But we won in the end."

No surprise there. I continued looking at Hank.

"But we did get one prisoner," he continued. "And Logan wants you to talk to her."

"Who's the prisoner?" I asked as neutrally as possible. Actually, I had a pretty good suspicion who it was.

"The lady who set you up. Emma Frost."

I made a point of not looking in Marie's direction, "And what makes Logan think I want to talk to her?"

Hank's eyes were bottomless pools of darkness as he grinned and said, "The lady says she wants to talk to you. And for some reason, Logan is going along with that. And besides, she's really your problem. So Logan figures that you get to choose if she lives or dies."

* * *

They were holding Emma in a warehouse just off the docks. I'd heard of the place before, but I've never been there. That's good, because people who go there have a habit of never being seen again. In fact, I wasn't too thrilled about making this little visit, but I didn't have a lot of choice. Hank escorted me in, past some of Logan's bruisers - a pair of cold-eyed youngsters named Sam and Dani.

Christ, Logan is recruiting 'em young!

Emma was sitting in a rusty iron chair, behind a tiny wooden table. She was barefoot and dressed in a knee-length, threadbare, summer dress. An intricate-looking steel collar surrounded her neck. To say the least, she wasn't up to her usual standards of dress.

I gave Hank a quizzical look.

"The collar controls her psychic abilities," he said without me having to ask.

"Where'd you get a gizmo like that from?"

Hank shrugged, "We've got a guy working for us who can put together some amazing stuff."

I nodded and sat down across the table from Emma. Her eyes cooly met mine. Emma is the kind of woman you can beat, but not really defeat. I suppose I'll always admire that in her. However, in this case the "beaten" part was pretty literal. There were bruises on her face, and she had a black eye and a split lip. And some of that was obviously fresh - like within the last few hours.

Kitty was leaning against the far wall, watching us both. She had her typically amused and more-than-slightly-crazy look on her face. A glance at her knuckles told me that she was the one who'd been beating Emma. Kitty noticed that and smiled at me as she licked the biggest cut on her right hand. I wish to hell Logan would do something about her - she's a psycho who was only barely in control. And if he didn't do something, it will end badly for her, and for anyone else caught in her blast radius.

"Emma..." I began, then paused.

"Hello, Dom," she said calmly.

"I was told you wanted to see me," I said quietly.

She nodded.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"I'd like to live," she said simply.

I nodded, "Yeah. I can understand that. You know, I might not have the last word on that. Hell, I'm not really sure if I have anything to say about it at all."

Emma looked up at Hank, who was standing right behind me.

Hank put a huge hand on my shoulder, "Logan says it's up to you."

Thanks, Logan, I fumed to myself. Just freaking thanks. You know, I shoot people all the time - but that's in a fight. It's what I do and I'm more than used to that. But I've never had to look someone cold in the eye and make this kind of decision before. I barely stopped myself from cursing out loud.

"You lied to me and used me, Emma," I said more than a little coldly. "Why shouldn't I let Logan's people settle things with you?"

She didn't even hesitate, "Because I protected both you and Marie. The rest of the Inner Circle wanted to kill you and I wouldn't let them - I said you were too valuable. And I never told them about Marie. That's why she stayed free after you were captured."

"Okay," I said slowly. "I'll ignore the obvious fact that you 'protected' us from the organization of nutcases that you involved us with in the first place. And I'll just ask... why? Why did you suddenly start giving a damn about our safety"

She sighed, "I never wanted either of you to be hurt. I never wanted anyone hurt. Unfortunately, I was working with the type of people who enjoy exercising that sort of power. So I had to play a two-faced game to keep you and Marie safe while doing what had to be done. After you found Xavier and Grey, my plan was that you would work for me until I could reasonably let you go, while Marie remained completely out of the picture."

"If you didn't have that high of an opinion about the rest of the Inner Circle, why were you working with them?"

Something angry flared in Emma's eyes, "Because whatever else they might have been, they were right about the Phoenix! It's real and it's incredibly dangerous and it has its hooks into the Grey woman! That's why I did so many things that you think are questionable! They were fucking questionable! But they were also necessary!"

That sudden burst of energy caught Kitty's interest. She was standing behind Emma now, and she smiled as she put her hands on Emma's shoulders and delicately ran her thumbs along the muscles of Emma's neck.

Emma took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Behind me, Hank stirred uneasily.

"Someday you will all need me, Dom," Emma said in a calmer voice. "I'm the only person left alive who's studied the Phoenix and knows what it is and what it can do. If you let them kill me, than I'll merely be the first of many to die!"

"Hush, sweetie," Kitty said with easy authority, brushing her fingertips across Emma's cheek. "Don't get all excited and angry, or else I'll have to punish you again. You remember last time don't you? Wasn't it fun?"

"Get you hands off of her," I ordered Kitty. My voice was so hard I almost didn't recognize it.

Kitty looked at me and smiled, but she didn't back off.

"Kitty, get out of here," Hank said from behind me. If anything, he sounded even colder than I had.

Kitty looked past me at Hank. And for a brief second I thought she was going to tell him to go to hell. And there I was, stuck in between them. But then Kitty smiled brightly at all of us and let go of Emma. Then she turned on her heel and walked out the door.

"Well?" Hank rumbled at me.

I stood up.

"Let her go," I said to Hank.

He nodded as Emma let out a deep sigh of relief. Taking Emma by the hand, I led her towards the door. Sam and Dani stood away as Sam opened the door wide.

"You better not be lying to me, Emma," I told her.

"I wish I was," she answered softly.

Together, we walked out of the dim shadow of the warehouse and into a sunlit morning.


	2. The Case of the Undying Mind Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is the biggest gangster in town, but even he needs to be subtle sometimes. Two of his biggest rivals -- Erik Lehnsherr and the mysterious Egyptian -- are up to something and Logan hires 'Domino Investigations' to fin out what's going on. Domino and Rogue end up discovering a lot more that Logan expected...

THE CASE OF THE UNDYING MIND MASTER

"I thought you two had a rule about this sort of thing."

It's scary how quiet Logan can be when he tries. And, yeah, Marie and I do have a "no hanky-panky in the office" rule, but we were closed for the night and one thing had led to another...

"Eeep!" Marie yelped as she jumped out of my lap. Blushing furiously, she turned to face the wall as she hurriedly buttoned her dress. I refused to do anything with my blouse. For one thing, there wasn't any part of me that Logan hadn't seen, very up-close and very personal, at one time or another. And I would be damned if I'd let him to see me in a girly panic.

"Dammit, Logan!" I snarled at him.

"Ladies, I'm really sorry to interrupt," Logan said with vast and obvious insincerity.

"Business hours are over," I said as evenly as I could manage. "There's a sign on the door. I'm fairly sure you know how to read."

Logan tossed a money-clip on my desk. It was thickish and the outermost bill was a twenty. "I want to do some business, Dom" he said, "but if you aren't available..."

He let that hang as I forced myself not to stare at the money-clip. I'm a private-eye, but there isn't a lot of call in this town for a PI who doesn't take dirty cases. And at the moment, Domino Investigations was running in the red.

Trying to ignore the fact that my blouse was open and my pants were unbuckled - at least Logan couldn't see that last part since I was sitting behind my desk - I nodded at him and said, "Okay, we just opened for business. Now, what the hell do you want?"

Marie put a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Logan. Then she cuffed him in the back of the head and walked away, her back stiff and indignant. He smiled over his shoulder at her. The history there is long and messy, but the bottom line was that Logan would probably die for Marie. He would certainly kill for her. That was something we had in common.

Then Logan turned his attention back to me and said, "Erik is up to something. Find out what the hell it is."

Logan runs the biggest gang in this town. Erik Lehnsherr runs the second biggest gang. They step carefully around each other, but the smart money was that someday Logan and Erik would go to war. I wasn't looking forward to that day. Nobody was.

With a snort, I picked up Logan's money-clip - it was simple and worn and decorated with the crest of a Canadian infantry regiment that died at the Somme - and tossed it back.

"I don't do that kind of gang-work," I growled at him. "Have your own people sort it out."

"Emma's involved," he said.

That made me hesitate. Emma Frost is a very beautiful and very dangerous piece of work. She once used me and betrayed me, but I was willing to say she thought it was for a good cause. Hey, I can't say I haven't done worse a few times in my life. And in her own slightly crazy way, Emma tried to protect Marie and I when we needed it. I didn't exactly owe her, but...

Logan tossed the money-clip back at me. I caught it in midair.

"What are the details?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Erik and Emma have been seen together. And Erik's been moving men and money around in ways that don't make good business sense - it's like he's looking for something. Some of my people think I'm imagining things, but I'm willing to take a shot in the dark. That's where you come in."

"Why me?" I asked warily. Like I said, Logan has his own people - a gang of men and women with strange powers of the mind and body. And they're pretty damn good at what they do.

A wry smile flickered across Logan's face and then vanished, "If one of my guys is caught snooping around Erik's business, it could start trouble. But if a private eye with a known connection to Emma just happens to look her up... well, that's what the guys in striped pants like to call 'a deniable contact'. All very quiet and civilized and maybe some information changes hands that helps keep things from going crazy."

I couldn't help it - I snickered. That kind of delicacy was more than a little surprising coming from Logan.

"You oughta go to work for the State Department."

Logan's smile turn hard, "Too much lying and pretending."

I nodded slowly, "Okay. I'll go have a talk with Emma, but you're spending a lot of money for what might be not much work on my part."

"Let me worry about that."

I tucked the money-clip into my desk drawer.

* * *

Logan was gone, my shirt and pants were rebuttoned, and Marie was mad at me.

"You should have told him to go to hell," Marie said as she hammered at her battered typewriter. Whenever we get a little money I try to convince her to buy a new one, but she always refuses.

"We need the money," I said reasonably.

She sighed, "I know. I'm the one who lies to the bill collectors, remember? But a case involving Erik and Emma? That can't be anything good."

"And maybe that's why somebody should check on it," I replied.

She stopped what she was doing and turned around in her chair to look at me, "Dom, this whole thing sounds bad."

I sighed and then said, "I'll see Emma and have a few words with her. With any luck, that's all it will take."

Marie gave me a skeptical look. Even I didn't believe what I'd just said.

* * *

Emma was born and raised in this city, but after the Inner Circle was violently dismantled and she almost got killed in the process, I really thought Emma would get the heck out of town and never look back. But Emma just about always does the unexpected. Instead of leaving town, she raised her profile even higher. It was hard to read a paper nowadays - especially the society pages - and not catch a reference to the goings-on of the beautiful heiress to the Frost family fortune.

At the moment, Emma was living in a posh apartment in one the city's newer high-rises. There was a doorman in the lobby, but like most employees of the super-rich he was underpaid. The fiver I slipped him bought me both an unannounced entrance and the information that Emma was home.

As I knocked on the door to Emma's penthouse apartment, I wondered what it cost to live in a place like that. A month's rent was probably more than what I made in a year. That sort of thing always made me think. You can be a private-eye with scruples, but it doesn't pay much. If it was just me, I wouldn't care, but there's also Marie to consider. I wanted her to have something better in life than three dollar dresses, second-hand shoes, and an apartment the size of a large closet.

After a few moments, the door opened - and the surprises began.

"Hello?" Jean Grey said, one eyebrow raised enquiringly as she looked at me. She was wearing a very short robe made of white silk. Her legs and feet were bare and I was fairly sure she wasn't wearing much of anything underneath her robe. Her long red hair was mussed and her lipstick could have used some touch-up.

A while back, I caught a glimpse of Jean through a window. Then mortar shells started falling and that pretty much screwed up any chance we might have had for polite introductions.

"We've never met," I said slowly, caught completely off-guard. "But my name is Domino..."

The "who the hell are you?" look on her face cleared away and she smiled. My body temperature seemed to rise a half-dozen degrees in response. This girl was dynamite.

"Why, hello! It's nice to finally meet you!" Jean said eagerly as she opened the door wide and stepped out of the way. For the first time, I could see into the apartment. The decor had an art-deco motif, which had become pretty popular lately.

"Emma!" Jean called. "There's someone to see you!"

Emma Frost stepped into the living room. She wasn't wearing much more than Jean, and had the same tousled "I've been fucking like a bunny"-look about her.

"Hi, Emma," I said with a nod of my head.

Stepping close to me, Emma kissed me on the cheek. Then she looked at Jean.

"Jean, this is Domino. I've mentioned her to you."

Still smiling, Jean replied, "Yes, you have. So, what's it like to be a private eye?"

The last part was addressed to me. I couldn't help but grin. There was something about Jean that made you smile - an enthusiasm for life. Marie's like that, too.

"Never a dull moment," I said. "Lots of intrigue, excitement, handsome men, and pretty girls. And the money's great."

"That means monotony, divorce cases, hunting down missing persons who usually want to be missing, and otherwise dealing with grimy little people and their grimy little problems. And the money is terrible," Emma translated for me - fairly accurately I might add.

Jean laughed, "Don't mess with my romantic illusions, Emma. Tell you what, I was going to go do some studying. I'll get dressed and get out of here and you two can have the place to yourselves."

Jean vanished into the back as Emma picked up a tumbler and a crystal decanter and asked, "Scotch? On the rocks?"

I nodded.

"Sit down, Dom," Emma said distractedly as she poured. "And relax. You look uncomfortable as all hell."

Jean was a quick dresser. I was sitting on the couch and taking a first appreciative sip of Emma's extremely fine Scotch when she reappeared, dressed in a serious-looking black and green jacket-skirt combination. It went well with her now neatly brushed red hair. She was carrying an oversized handbag stuffed with so many books that it would probably break bones if she hit someone with it.

"Have fun," she called out. Then she gave Emma a quick kiss and walked out the door.

Emma curled up in the easy chair opposite me. She had her own glass of scotch and her minimal robe was riding up on her thighs to a very distracting level. Knowing Emma, that probably wasn't an accident. She likes people to be off-balance around her, and she doesn't hesitate to use her looks to get that effect.

"Yes, Jean and I are sleeping together," she said calmly, after taking a sip of scotch. "Yes, she's very good in bed. No, I've never chained her naked to a cold concrete floor and used her like a cheap whore. Yes, I seduced her so I could keep an eye on her. And, yes, despite my original motives I have come to... enjoy her company."

I gave Emma a dirty look.

"I didn't use telepathy," she said with a shrug. "I just knew what you were thinking and felt it would be best to get the obvious questions out of the way."

Typical Emma. Always with the games.

"I'm here on a job," I said.

Her eyes narrowed and she studied me over the rim of her glass.

"Logan wants me to ask you a few questions," I continued.

She was suddenly very still. Emma was once in Logan's hands. It hadn't been a pleasant experience for her. Of course, she did deserve almost every minute of it.

"And just what does Logan want to know?" she asked.

"What's up with Erik Lehnsherr? And how are you involved?"

She thought that over for a second and then said, "Not even an attempt at subtlety?"

"No," I said flatly. "And it would be a good thing if you gave me some information to take back to Logan."

"And why should I?" she challenged.

"Because I'm the soft approach, Emma," I said quietly and very truthfully. "Don't kid yourself - in the long run, this is Logan's town. He's been acting fairly civilized lately, but you once caught a glimpse of what he and his people can be like when they're unhappy. Blow me off and Logan might let it slide - or he might decide to try again. And the next time he comes asking questions it'll be a lot less polite."

"Don't try to frighten me, Domino."

I slammed my glass down on a glass-surfaced coffee table so hard that I was surprised it didn't crack. Until that moment, I hadn't realized how worried I was about Emma's immediate future.

"I'm not threatening you, Emma. I'm begging you. Logan smells blood. For God's sake, you know what that means better than most people!"

She stared at me.

"Look in my head," I ordered softly as I leaned towards her.

Emma put down her drink. Her fingertips - cold and wet from her glass - brushed my forehead. And she flinched at what she saw.

Picking up the glass of Scotch again, she finished it in one swallow. "Mr. Lehnsherr hired my services. I thought it would be politic to do as he asked - with the understanding that he owed me a favor."

I nodded, "Good call. The trick is to do some work for guys like Logan or Erik while keeping your distance and making sure that there are boundaries they understand you won't cross. And you should let everyone know that your relationship is strictly professional and that you're not a part of anyone's organization."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"So what did Erik want you to do?"

She smiled at me, "Come now, Dom. It really wouldn't be a good idea to betray Mr. Lehnsherr's confidence. But perhaps I can give you something to work with. Something he doesn't know that I know."

I waited.

"The Egyptian," Emma continued bleakly. "Whatever Erik is doing has something to do with the Egyptian."

Oh, crap. The stories told about the Egyptian are pretty ugly. He hurts people, and it's not just about business. He seems to like that sort of thing. Some say he needs it.

Dammit.

The fact that Erik was dealing with the Egyptian was news in and of itself. The fact that it wasn't being talked about out on the street was also pretty interesting. It meant that both Erik and the Egyptian were trying to keep it quiet. And they were succeeding.

I finished my drink and got to my feet. Emma rose as well.

"Leaving?" she asked.

"Thanks to you, I've now got a lot to think about."

She walked me to the door and held it open for me.

"One more thing..." Emma said.

Standing in the doorway, I paused and turned to look at her.

She took me in by the shoulders and kissed me. I didn't pull away. As a matter of fact, I took a firm grip on her hips and leaned into her. And so we stood together in the doorway, wrapped up in each other, for a long time.

"You go back home to the girl you love," she finally whispered to me. "And I'll stay here with mine. And we'll both try not to wonder how things might have been."

I left with a dozen half-connected thoughts whirling through my head. A visit with Emma can be unsettling even in the best of times, but this was more extreme than usual. I was seriously considering going back to Logan, telling him what I'd learned, and leaving it at that.

But...

But now I was curious. Scared, but curious.

* * *

"What do you know about the Egyptian?" I said into the phone. I was making the call from a phone-booth rather than from my office. I didn't want Marie to know that the Egyptian was involved quite yet.

There was a long pause on the other end, then Hank growled, "I don't like the sound of that."

Hank is Logan's number two guy. He's a big, tough-looking bruiser with freakishly big hands and feet. And he's a hell of a lot smarter than he looks. In fact, he's one of the smartest guys I've ever met. Logan sets policy for his gang, but Hank's the guy who figures out how it gets done. They make a pretty good team.

"I don't like it either," I said, "but I need whatever you got."

"Well... where do you want me to start?"

"Assume I don't know anything."

"Great," he growled again. Then he continued. "The Egyptian wandered into town about five years ago. Nobody knows why he came here. We have a source who says his real name is Amahl Farouk and he used to be a big deal in Cairo. Right now he runs a small, independent gang in the Arab neighborhood. I'm told that people in that part of town call him the Shadow King."

"What do they think of him?" I interrupted.

"They're scared silly of the guy. Anyway, he's one nasty son-of-a-bitch and both Logan and Lehnsherr want him to go away. By my count, the Egyptian's been iced at least four times since he got here. Twice by our people, once by Lehnsherr's, and one more time by a freelancer with a personal grudge. The problem is, killing him doesn't really finish him off. He just comes back - in someone else's body."

"Dammit, I was hoping that last part was just a story," I said. I'd heard stories about how hard it was to kill the Egyptian. And I don't like dealing with people that I can't get rid of by shooting them.

"You and me both. But the bottom line is that you can kill him, but he's a bitch to keep dead. The first time we got him, Kitty and Bobby caught him in an ambush. They swore they killed him, but the next day another guy is walking the streets and running the Egyptian's business as if nothing had happened. The second time we got him, Scott and Warren and Bobby sealed his body in a block of concrete and dropped it into the bay - and he was back in business within a week. The freelancer who got him is an ex-Marine named Castle. And Castle is a complete nut-job who uses the maximum possible force to solve problems. He apparently put most of a Tommy-gun magazine into the Egyptian and then torched the body, but even that didn't finish Farouk off. He just reappeared a few days later in a new skin-suit. Nobody has a clue how he does it."

"So that's why you guys tolerate him?" I asked.

"We don't have any choice. The constant brawling with his gang got expensive and we weren't getting anywhere, so we eventually wrote him off as a problem without a good solution. As near as we can tell, the Egyptian doesn't have any goals outside of his little part of the city, so Logan warned him to keep his operations local and that was the end of it. Apparently Lehnsherr feels the same way. There's been a truce ever since."

I thought all of that over for a second before continuing, "Exactly what did the Egyptian do to get on so many hit lists?"

Now Hank sounded disgusted, "Part of it's just business - when he first got here, the Egyptian thought he was going to take over the entire town. We had to teach him otherwise. But it's more than that. He's as bad as it gets, Dom. He does the stuff that nobody else will touch. Betsy thinks he feeds on pain and suffering."

Betsy Braddock is Logan's top psychic. I didn't know the lady too well, but if both Logan and Hank had faith in her, then she was good at her job.

"Just what can he do?" I asked.

"You mean besides the fact that he's ridiculously hard to kill?" Hank shot back. "Well, he's a psychic and he can read minds like most of them, but his big gig is that he controls people. If he concentrates on you, he can make you do just about anything. On a wider scale, he can make a lot of people really freaking loyal to him. Betsy says he's the most powerful 'possessor' - that's what she calls him - that she's ever seen. But he does seem to have some limits in how many people he can control or influence at a time. Otherwise, he probably actually would have taken over this town."

I sighed, "This really doesn't sound good. Anything else?"

Hank didn't say anything.

"Hank?" I said into the phone. "I'm working for you guys, remember?"

Then he sighed, "Okay, there's one more thing. He and Ororo have some history."

I blinked in surprise, "What kind of history?"

"She was the "source" I mentioned a while back that gave us the background info on the Egyptian. She worked for him when she was a kid back in Africa. Oh, hell, why play with words? Ororo was one of the people he controlled - one of his slaves."

"What does she have to say about that?" I asked slowly.

"She tries to hide it, but she's terrified of the bastard. Warren says she almost completely flipped out when she found out the Egyptian was in town. She wanted to run all the way to Europe, but he managed to talk her out of it. Can you imagine what it would take to make Ororo that scared of someone? Look, Dom, if you can figure out a way to permanently deep-six this bastard, there's a big piece of change in it for you. And my personal thanks."

I thought about that, "I may need to talk to Ororo."

"No."

"Hank..."

"No."

Logan's people are crazy-loyal to one another. Sometimes too loyal.

I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, "Okay."

* * *

I made a few more phone-calls, talking to informers, reporters, cops, and other sources. I didn't get much. Nobody likes to talk about Erik or the Egyptian - or Logan for that matter. It's not good for your health.

Which left me with my one sort-of dependable source of information about Erik - Pietro and his gang. But there was a decent chance that Pietro and his boys might actually be working for Erik at the moment, so I had to be careful.

Lucky for me, there was one guy in Pietro's gang who would always be willing to give me the time of day. He wasn't answering his phone, so I went to 'Big Willies' - a popular downtown hotdog stand. A quarter bought me a cup of coffee and a Polish dog with sauerkraut, onions, and mustard.

Fred Dukes walked in a half-hour later. Some people call him the Blob, but not to his face. He's as big as a house and not very bright. It's funny how smart people - like Pietro and Erik, for example - sometimes say things around not-smart people that they shouldn't.

"Dom!" Fred yelled when he saw me, giving me a gap-toothed grin.

I waved to the guy behind the counter, "Give Fred here five of your footlongs. Same fixings as mine."

Back during my brief stint as a part of Pietro's crew, Fred was the guy who showed me 'Big Willies'. And he introduced me to his favorite style of hotdog at the same time.

With a laugh like a cannon, Fred parked his very big butt on a heavy wood and iron bench that existed for no other reason than to support the load that was him. Fred brought it in himself the day after he demolished his third chair.

"Good to see you, darlin'" he said with a grin. "But you only look me up when you want something. So what's going on?"

I couldn't help but feel bad. Fred had pretty much nailed it - I do like Fred in a funny kind of way, but he's not the kind of guy you voluntarily spend a lot of time with.

"You got me, Fred. Yeah, I do have a few questions."

"Ah, don't feel bad, sweetie. It's good to see you no matter what. So what do you want to know?"

"Pietro's dad is up to something. Any idea what it is?"

A cute, young waitress dropped the first two of Fred's dogs off at our table, "The rest are on the way, Freddie!"

Fred patted her ass and said, "Thanks, doll." She giggled and walked away. Weird.

Then Fred popped most of a hotdog into his mouth and began noisily chewing it to pieces.

"Well..." he mumbled thoughtfully through a mouthful, "Pietro and his dad had one of their father-son talks the other day. You know, the ones where Dad says, 'Do this or I will destroy you!' and Pietro says, 'Wah! You don't love me!' - that sort of talk?"

I managed to keep a straight face as I nodded.

Fred swallowed, belched, and continued, "Pietro's dad has him looking for somebody. A kid, I think. Pietro called off a bank job we'd been planning and took off on his own to do what Daddy wanted. Mortimer told me that Pietro was asking questions about runaway kids."

That made me lean forward. "Got a name or a description of whoever he's looking for?" I asked.

Fred shrugged, "Nah. Sorry, toots, that's all I know. Does that help?"

I stood up and kissed Fred on the cheek. He actually blushed.

* * *

After that, I bought a drink for a nervous social-worker in a basement speakeasy. He told me that some very scary people were quietly spreading money and threats through the city's child-welfare system. It was the classic carrot-and-stick: give us what we want and we'll reward you, hold out on us and you'll get hurt.

"What do they want?" I asked.

"Records on all the kids who've passed through the system in the last month. And notification about anyone new that got either picked up or sighted," he said as he morosely shook the ice-cubes in his now empty glass. I signaled the bartender to get him another one.

"It sounds like they're looking for someone." I said cautiously.

"If they are, they aren't giving out names or descriptions. They just want access to the files and reports."

I left the speakeasy and got in touch with a police sergeant who owed me a favor. He had a similar story. The word was out in every precinct that there were people with deep pockets who wanted to know about any loose kids that were running around on the streets. And again, there were no descriptions or names. They just wanted the raw information.

* * *

That night, at Marie's apartment, I told her everything.

"The Egyptian..." she said slowly. She was obviously worried to hear that he was involved.

"Yeah," I replied. I considered not telling her about that part, but if I kept secrets and she found out later... well, there was no telling what she'd do to me, but it wouldn't be pleasant.

"You see the connection?" she asked.

"The Egyptian sells kids," I said quietly.

Give Logan and Erik credit, they didn't have anything to do with that kind of thing. But there will always be a market for really young flesh. And that means somebody will try and make a buck off of it. It was the kind of thing - ugly and evil - that seemed tailor-made for the Egyptian.

"But this isn't about the Egyptian looking for kids that nobody will miss..." Marie pondered.

"No. This is still about Erik. As near as I can tell, Erik went to the Egyptian because the Egyptian is a good source of information on street kids. And Erik's doing the same thing with the cops and the bureaucracy. For some reason, Erik's looking for a kid or a set of kids. And he's pulling just about every string he can find. Except for one."

"Logan," Marie said immediately.

I nodded, "Yeah. Erik doesn't want Logan to know what he was doing."

"Why?" Marie asked.

"That's a damned good question."

"There's something else..." Marie began - and then stopped.

"What?"

"Erik's put a lot of time and effort into finding whoever he's looking for, but he hasn't found them. And he'd only go to the Egyptian if he was getting desperate."

I nodded, this has already occurred to me, "Which implies that whoever Erik is looking for is pretty good - unnaturally good, as a matter of fact - at keeping out of sight."

"Someone like us," Marie concluded. She was referring to people who have abilities beyond those of normal folk.

I nodded in agreement.

Later that evening, we lay in bed together, holding each other as the red neon lights outside of Marie's window flashed on and off. I really didn't have a clue what to do next.

And after I fell asleep, I had a nightmare where I was running down a street, frantically looking for Marie. All I could find was boys and girls who kept offering to sell me their bodies. One of them was very young Ororo.

* * *

Sleeping on a problem often helps - even if you don't get much sleep. The next morning, as Marie and I shared a breakfast of bacon and eggs, an idea popped into my head. There were some risks, and at least one wild leap of faith, but it might work. And I didn't have much else.

At the office, I made a phone-call.

"So I finally get to hear your voice," Dr. Xavier said pleasantly. The long-distance connection was unusually good. He was currently teaching at Harvard, which was a quick train trip up the coast, but I didn't have the time to go visit. So Mr. Bell's favorite invention would have to do.

"We were kinda overdo for a conversation, Doctor Xavier..."

"Please, call me Charles," he interrupted gently.

"Thanks. Look, Charles, I'm going to get right to the point. Somewhere here in town is a kid. Some scary people - including Erik Lehnsherr and a guy named Amahl Farouk - are looking for that kid. I don't have a clue why they want him, but it seems to me that maybe somebody else better find him first. I'm hoping you can help."

"And just how can I help?" he asked warily.

"I've got reason to believe that the kid is one of us - a person with special talents. And I'm taking a guess that you have a way of finding people like that. And it's no guess at all that you make a habit of helping people like us who happen to need help - particularly youngsters."

There was a long pause before he spoke again, "You seem to know a great deal about my affairs, Miss Thurman."

I blinked in surprise. Nobody calls me that. Hell, not that many people even know my real name.

"No offense, Charles, but after that business with Jean Grey and the Inner Circle, I got curious about you. So I did some checking - and connected a few dots. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"You are not wrong, Miss Thurman. But I would not like it to become common knowledge that I have developed a means of tracking mutants across considerable distances."

Mutants. I'd never heard that word before. I filed it away for reference.

"I understand," I said.

"Do you have anything I can work with besides the fact that we are looking for a mutant child in your city?" he continued. "Your hometown has an unusually large mutant population. I'm afraid that will make such a task difficult."

"Well... a common assumption seems to be that the kid is living on the streets. That probably means that he doesn't hang around with a lot of other people, and has found somewhere to hide. And he probably doesn't stick out too much in a crowd or he would have been picked up by now. And actually, I'm not really sure that we're talking about a loner - there might be more than one kid. For that matter, I'm not really sure that the kid is a "he". Sorry. I know that's not much, but it's all I've got."

He sighed, "I'll try my best."

"That's great! My phone number is..."

*That won't be necessary,* his voice spoke in my head.

I hate psychics.

*No, you don't,* he chuckled.

* * *

He was back inside an hour.

*I may have something for you.*

Even though I was expecting him to 'call', I still jumped. I'll never get used to all of this psychic stuff.

"That's good," I replied out loud as I reached for a paper and pencil. I was sitting in my office. Marie had stopped in the middle of what she had been doing and was looking at me. She was only hearing one side of the conversation.

*I have detected two young female mutants, probably adolescents, who are in the Piedmont area of your town. They seem to taking shelter in an abandoned home. I cannot determine the address, but from the mental images I managed to secure, the building is made of stone, two stories in size, has a gray slate roof, and was probably built in the middle part of the last century. It overlooks a small river. I suggest you hurry up, since I cannot guarantee that those girls will remain for very long in that area.*

"Thanks, Charles!" I yelled as I ran out of my office. Behind me, Marie was standing in the center of the room, her mouth open as she watched me leave.

* * *

Piedmont is a part of town that used to be pretty prosperous. Once upon a time, it was filled with factories and mills, and hundreds of workers lived nearby. But the plants were built around the time of the Civil War - and they ran into a lot of more efficient competition after the turn of the century. The Depression finished most of them off. Now the plants were mostly abandoned and so were a lot of the houses. Someday, when property values drop enough, somebody will start something up again in Piedmont, but for right now it's damn near a wasteland.

The small river running through Piedmont used to supply water-power for the plants and mills. Upriver from the factory district was where most of the homes were located. I checked that area out first - and found the place Charles had described fairly quickly.

The neighborhood was mostly abandoned, except for a few old-folks stubbornly hanging on to their decrepit homes. It was a grim place, but for a strange moment I saw me and Marie living in one of those houses. We were old and comfortable and waiting for the end of our days with the only thing that really mattered - each other. Somehow, that didn't seem too bad. Maybe that was how it was working for the people who were still there.

I parked my Packard on the far side of the block and cut through a trash-strewn alleyway. Before I crossed the street, I took my time to examine the area. Nobody seemed to be watching, either from the house that I was sneaking up on, or in the rest of the neighborhood.

A wooden "For Sale" sign nailed over the front door of the house was peeling so bad that you could barely read it. The windows were shuttered, except for one on the second floor. Looking it over, I got the definite impression it had been opened just recently, after years of being shut.

I moved off to the side, vaulting a couple of half-collapsed fences, so I wouldn't have to approach the house directly. Then I finally crossed the street and continued on into the back-alley beyond. It made sense to approach the house from behind.

The backdoor of the house had been jimmied open, but the damage was minimal. You had to examine the door closely to see that it wasn't secured.

As quietly as I could manage, I opened the backdoor and entered what had once been a kitchen. I had my .45 in my hand and I felt funny about that. What was I going to do? Shoot a pair of scared kids? But long experience suggested to me that maybe you should be carrying a weapon in circumstances like this. So I had a round in the chamber and the hammer locked back.

Everything in the kitchen that was easily movable and salable had long since been stripped out. Rusty iron water pipes, carefully capped, protruded from the walls. Through a doorless window, I could see some of what looked like a living room. I carefully closed the back-door behind me and the only light left was coming through gaps in the boards of the window shutters.

Figuring that the stairs were in the front, I continued on into the next room. And there I found myself fighting for my life.

I caught a brief flicker of movement in what I later found out was a fragment of mirror that was still hanging on a wall. Something flew out of a dark corner of the living room and it was only by the sheerest of luck (which is admittedly a specialty of mine) that I sensed it coming.

That was enough to make me duck and dodge to the side. Which was enough to save my life.

Something raked against my thigh and pain lanced up my leg as I felt hot blood soak into my pants. Whoever was attacking me, they were right on top of me and had some kind of edged weapon. Even worse, they were moving like they could see just fine, while I has half-blind. None of that was good.

I closed my eyes, and lunged backwards and away from my attacker as I fired my .45 twice. Through my eyelids, I could see the bright muzzle flash of my weapon. Since I was firing blind, I'd only hit if I got even luckier than usual, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the flashes would momentarily blind my attacker.

Careening towards the nearest wall, I hastily elbow-smashed open a shuttered window and then continued on into a corner. I wanted light and a reduced number of angles from which I could be approached. I got them both.

With my back to the corner, I held my weapon in front of me and scanned the now dimly lit living room.

Nothing was stirring. Not even a mouse. But there were a lot of dark corners and shadows.

Keeping my eyes on the room, I ran my free hand over the wound in my leg. It wasn't as bad as I feared, but it wasn't good.

There was a clatter from a particularly dark corner off to one side, but I refused to look at it. It was an attempt to get me to look in one direction while I was attacked from another. I immediately turned my weapon towards the opposite side of the room from where the noise had come.

She came out of the darkness, moving low and fast and with terrible purpose, but immediately saw that I hadn't been fooled. I fired just as she dropped to the floor and rolled back into the darkness. I didn't miss by much, but I did miss.

I got a fairly good look at her. She was a kid - maybe ten years old - with long black hair, skin almost as pale as Marie's, and eerie green eyes. She was wearing dark pants, work-boots, and a black long-sleeved shirt. And she had bone-white claws. Two on each of her hands and another one on each foot. In the brief moment I spotted her, I could see a streak of blood on one of her foot claws. That was my blood.

When I saw the claws, a big chunk of the mystery was solved. Oh, there were still some things that had to be sorted out, but now I knew what Erik was doing. On the other hand, that might not matter. There were four rounds left in my weapon. Unless I could come up with something, that meant I had four chances to ice somebody who was really fast, really lethal, and really hard-to-kill - or she would finish me.

"I'm from Logan," I said. Hopefully that would end it.

Nothing.

"Laura, please stop," somebody said from back and above.

I could only barely see her, but at the top of the stairs there was another girl. She was also dressed in black - some sort of long and old-fashioned looking dress - and was wearing a dark veil.

"Please leave. We don't want to hurt you," she said to me in strangely accented English.

In the darker recesses of the room, I could sense that the little girl with the big claws was using the distraction to slip closer to me. I didn't think that the older girl with the veil was lying to me, but I was pretty sure that "Laura" wasn't playing by the same rules as her friend.

"Laura! Stop!" the girl in the veil repeated sharply.

The girl ghosting through the darkness froze. And then she receded a bit. She seemed... frustrated.

My mouth was dry and blood was still leaking down my leg.

"Who is Logan?" the girl in the veil asked.

I almost laughed, but then I stopped myself just in time. I was beginning to feel light-headed.

"He's Laura's father," I said. Then I took a really big chance and lowered my weapon.

* * *

When we got back to my office, Marie took one look at me and immediately got me out of my pants. And not in a good way.

So there I was, pants-less, with a bottle of cheap whisky in one hand, and surrounded by three cute girls. When you put it that way, it sounded like a positive situation. Unfortunately, the reality wasn't much fun.

My now blood-stained desk chair had been rolled into the middle of the office. I was grumpily occupying it as Marie knelt next to me and carefully stitched up the gash in my leg. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was wearing a pair of delicate pink panties. I'd never buy a pair like that, but they were a gift from Marie. Normally, I'm plain ol' white panties kind of gal, but I was a little behind on my laundry...

Claw-girl and Veil-girl - their names were Laura and Sooraya - were watching the procedure with some interest as Marie sewed my leg back together. Sooraya was sitting in the guest chair. Laura was crouched next to her, and not looking even slightly guilty about the fact she was the one who cut me. Sooraya was slowly, soothingly, running her fingers through Laura's hair. Since only females were present, Sooraya had taken her veil down. It hung down by her shoulder, only held in place by one pin.

Sooraya was a dark-haired and -eyed teenager. She wasn't Arab. If I had to make a guess, she was from somewhere in south Asia.

"Stop wiggling," Marie said irritably as she tried to tie off the last stitch.

I bit back a nasty response and took another shot from the bottle. Really, I shouldn't have been drinking with a stone-killer like Laura sitting just a few feet away. But something told me that she wasn't in a homicidal mood at the moment. Otherwise I would never would have brought her anywhere near Marie.

Marie was finished with me and it was time to get back to business. I looked at Laura and Sooraya and said, "You two have some tough choices to make. And you have to make them fast."

Sooraya raised her chin slightly, but said nothing. Laura was also silent, but something in her eyes suggested that if I said the wrong thing then she was going to try to kill me. Again.

"I don't think your father knows about you," I said to Laura. I had to get her thinking about something other than gutting me. "If he did, he would have done a lot more than just hire me to figure out what was going on. He would turned the entire town upside down to find you. For better and worse, he's that kind of guy."

Laura gave me a long, puzzled look and then said, "I don't have a father."

Marie looked up from reorganizing her sewing kit and said to Laura, "Yes, you do, sugar. Everyone does. Although maybe some of them aren't worth a hoot."

Laura glanced at Sooraya and then looked back at me and Marie and said, "Not me. I'm not real."

What the hell?

"Don't you say that, young lady," Marie said firmly - her Southern accent becoming clearer now. "Don't you ever say that. And if you say it again I'll slap you silly."

Laura, the pre-pubescent predator, looked taken aback by that. Marie does that to people.

"Look," I said urgently, "you two are right in the cross-hairs of a bad situation. Do you know who Erik Lehnsherr is?"

Sooraya's eyes narrowed, "Yes."

"He's looking for Laura. Probably because she's a way to get a handle on Logan. And he's using the cops, the government, and people like the damned Egyptian to find her. Do you know who the Egyptian is?"

From the terrified look that appeared on Sooraya's face, I'd have to say that the answer to that question was a big yes.

"I helped Sooraya escape from the Egyptian," Laura said calmly.

Huh?

I glared at Laura, "How did you manage that?"

"I killed a lot of people."

Why was I not surprised? That seemed to be Laura's chosen solution to problems. Then the full meaning of what Laura had said got through to me.

"The Egyptian had you?" I asked Sooraya, suddenly sick to my stomach.

Sooraya nodded, unable to meet my eyes. Then she looked at Laura, but Laura seemed distracted. Her head was cocked to one side as if she was listening to something off in the distance. And she then took a deep sniff - like a dog who had caught of whiff of something interesting.

"People are coming to kill us," Laura announced calmly just before she grabbed Sooraya and hauled her behind the cover of my desk.

My shoulder-holster and .45 were sitting near at hand on my desk. I lunged for my weapon as the front door of my office was kicked open. Meanwhile, somebody used the fire-escape to simultaneously crash through the office window. I didn't have any choice but to ignore what was happening behind me as I put four shots into the two gun-toting goons who were coming through the door.

Behind me, I heard a dull crack and a man began screaming. I took that as a good sign. Then a guy with a handgun tried to snap a shot at me around the edge of the door. His round went semi-wild. I responded by putting two rounds through the wall he was trying to hide behind - and into him. The building is pretty crappily constructed.

There was a meat-slicing sound, something warm and wet splattered over my back and neck, and the guy who was screaming behind me suddenly went quiet. Then Marie yelled, "Dom! Let's go!"

There were more guys in the hallway and it was only a matter of time until one of them got lucky - or got mad and tried something like a grenade or a Thompson. So I fired my last few shots through the door to make the gunsels keep their distance as I faded back to the window. Just before I lunged through the window, I had a choice between grabbing my pants or a loaded .38 that was hidden under the papers in my outbox. I chose the gun.

Laura had sliced open the guy who came through the window and blood had fountained all over the back wall of my office. Out on the fire-escape, I slipped on the blood-soaked grated platform and collapsed. And because of that, a bullet that should have hit me whizzed over my head instead. Typical. On the other hand, I could feel the stitches Marie had just finished putting into my leg tear open.

Marie grabbed me and pulled me away from the window. Sooraya was crouched near the ladder going down. Laura was on the next level down of the fire-escape. At her feet, a thug with a ripped-open neck was thrashing wildly as he tried to hold what was left of his throat together. It wasn't working very well. Another thug on the ladder below Laura decided that he wasn't being paid enough for this and risked a three-story jump to the pavement.

Down on the street below, it was a heavily-armed crowd scene. There must have been a dozen guys with enough guns to conquer a small country. One guy actually had a rifle. I tagged him and a guy with a shotgun with the .38 revolver. The .45 was empty and I now had four rounds left in the revolver. From the office, I heard a burst of suppressive fire and then the thugs rushed the door. And I could see more cars full of badguys pulling up.

The situation was not looking good.

And then everything turned to wind and dust.

* * *

We were ten blocks away from my office, holed up in a garage. I'd done the owner a favor a few years back. He didn't have a lot of money, but he paid me back with free car repairs and a spare key to his place of business - just in case I ever needed a place to hide out that was relatively close to my office.

That trick where Sooraya turns into a miniature sand-storm had probably saved our asses. I'm not sure even Laura could have cut her way out of that mess back at the office building. Using Sooraya for cover, we doubled-back into my office building via a second floor window, and then went down a small maintenance stairwell and out a little-used side exit. Then Laura silently and efficiently killed two guys who were guarding the alleyway beyond. From then on we were more-or-less home-free.

My shirt was tied around my thigh as a make-shift bandage. So I was now down to panties, a bra, and my socks. My shoes were back at my office with my trousers. The garage wasn't particularly well-heated and I was beginning to shiver.

Marie had a phone in her hand and was dialing furiously.

"Who're you calling?" I asked tiredly, even though I was fairly sure I knew the answer.

"Logan!" she snarled. "I'm gonna see that bastard Lehnsherr strung up from a lamp-post for this!"

That made me wince. Once Logan got directly involved, that would start a war. And innocent people would inevitably die in the crossfire. But I didn't have another solution.

Sooraya pulled off the black cloak-dress thing she was wearing and carefully draped it over me. There was no way I could fit into it - I was at least six inches taller than her and maybe a foot taller than Laura, but at least it would help keep me warm. Underneath her outer gown, Sooraya was dressed pretty much like any girl you might see on any American city street. Maybe she was showing a little too much leg.

And a little too much belly. She was something like four months pregnant. And, Dear God, she was maybe sixteen years old.

"Godammit, Kurt! Get me Logan or Hank on this line right fucking now!" Marie was yelling into the phone.

"Who's the father?" I asked quietly.

"I am," Laura said. She was covered from head-to-toe with sticky, half-dried blood. None of it was her own.

I gave Laura a long, hard look, "Laura, you're different than most young girls I know. But unless you're even more different than I think..."

"The Egyptian sold me as a whore," Sooraya said matter-of-factly. "I do not know who the father is. There are many possibilities."

"I'll take care of Sooraya and the baby. So I'm the father," Laura told me stubbornly. Sooraya smiled at me and gave Laura a fond look. And for a moment the darkness that seemed to hang over Sooraya was dispelled. I couldn't help but wordlessly thank Laura for that. In fact, I never so much wanted to take Death in my arms and give it a kiss on the top of its head.

"Look, just what is the story with you two?" I asked exasperatedly.

Laura answered immediately. "Lehnsherr bought me in Canada and then brought me here. I don't know why. Then I killed some people and escaped. Then I found Sooraya and saw that she was a prisoner too. So I killed some people and freed her."

I bemusedly stared at Laura, "That's pretty succinct - in a lethal kind of way."

"Out!? What do you mean they're 'out'!?" Marie fumed into the phone. "Then have Betsy get a hold of those two furballs!"

Sooraya glanced at Marie, "The people at the office were from the Egyptian. I recognized some of them."

Marie hesitated in mid-rant and looked at me. She and I had both been assuming that the people who attacked us were Erik's.

"The Egyptian doesn't have a gang that big," I slowly told Sooraya.

"He can control people with his mind," Laura said with a shrug.

I glanced in Laura's direction, "I know that, but..."

"He can control many more people than is commonly known," Sooraya added tonelessly. "He has a very large force of men. They have everyday lives, and many of them are not even aware that he owns them, but he can summon them very quickly."

I looked long and hard at Sooraya, "How do you know that?"

"The Egyptian owned me for five years," Sooraya said with what seemed like bottomlessly sad emptiness. "He kept me alive because I am an abomination like him. He feeds on misery, and he said the emotions of our kind taste sweeter than those of ordinary people. So I know a great deal about him. More than anyone else, I think."

I looked at Marie. And she looked back at me. The phone was hanging in her hand and someone was talking on the other end, but Marie wasn't paying attention.

"Erik wants Laura..." I said.

"...and the Egyptian wants Sooraya," Marie replied.

"And the Egyptian knows about Laura..." I continued.

"...but Erik doesn't know about Sooraya," Marie finished.

"Get Ororo," I said, gesturing to the phone in Marie's hand.

Marie thought about that for a second, then she smiled grimly and put the chattering phone back to her ear.

* * *

There are things you never expect to see in life. And one of them is a scared Ororo Munroe.

"I have kept my distance from Farouk," Ororo said tensely. I noticed she actually used his name. She was one of the few who did.

We were in Ororo's loft apartment. It was more modest than you might expect. As one of Logan's top enforcers, Ororo makes a pretty penny. As the girlfriend of Warren Worthington III - the richest and most unlikely gangster you'll ever meet - she could live like a queen if she wanted. But instead, Ororo lives simply, surrounded by flowers and other plants and with a skylight that gives her a clear view of the heavens. The only trace of luxury I've ever seen around her are some ridiculously expensive dresses and jewelry, which I always assumed were presents from Warren. Here in her private quarters, the only sign that she was anything more than a struggling nightclub singer was a very large and decadently opulent bed. Hey, it had to be big if it was going to accommodate Warren's wings.

"We need your help, Ororo," Marie said. Then she gestured at Laura and Sooraya, "And these kids need your help. We have to draw the Egyptian into a trap. "

"And Sooraya and I will be the bait in your trap, Marie?" Ororo said coolly. "Bait is often eaten."

"It's our best chance, Ororo," I said as reasonably as I could manage. I had to be polite to Ororo since I was wearing some of her clothes. You should be nice to people who give you pants. "The Egyptian lost both of you - and his kind always has a problem with that. And if he gets the idea that Sooraya is in contact with you, and maybe about to spill everything she knows to Logan, then I figure that he'll react the way we want."

Ororo didn't seem to be moved, but her eyes met Sooraya's. "We do not have to go through with this mad scheme," Ororo offered. "I will take you in. Logan and Warren and my other friends will protect you and your friend as they have protected me. You will be safe with us."

"Gracious lady," Sooraya replied formally, probably translating a phrase from her own language, "as long as that creature walks the Earth we will never be safe. In his mind he will always think of us as his property. We are not the only people to have been his slaves, but perhaps we are the only two to have ever escaped him. We owe something to those who were not as lucky."

There was a long, tense moment as Ororo seemed to look deep into Sooraya's eyes. Sooraya looked back, obviously tense and afraid. And then Ororo nodded her head.

"Then we will fight for those who cannot fight," Ororo said softly. Sooraya bowed and said something to Ororo in a language I don't know. It sounded both humble and thankful.

Yeah, we were supposed to be a real tough bunch. And I guess we were. But I'll always believe that Sooraya was the bravest of us all.

* * *

We spent a day setting our trap. Once we were ready, Ororo, Sooraya, Laura, Marie, and I settled into Ororo's apartment and I made a few phone-calls. I used multiple cut-outs to put the story out on the streets that Ororo Munroe had a new house-guest. A guest who was an escaped slave of Amahl Farouk.

Implied in that story was the one message a gangster can never tolerate: was the Egyptian finally beginning to slip?

It was a situation that the Egyptian would have to handle personally. If he sent men, they'd likely bounce off of Ororo - and probably trigger a full-blown war with Logan. But if the Egyptian came himself, he would be able to use his psychic abilities to control the situation.

"How long do you think until he shows up?" Ororo asked me. By then it was the late afternoon of our second day in Ororo's loft. Ororo was puttering around her indoor garden, trimming and watering in an effort to keep her mind occupied. Sooraya was helping her and also seemed glad to have something to do. Marie was trying to read a book and was doing a bad job of it. Laura was waiting near the window that faced the street, watching quietly.

I suppose I should have at least tried to prevent Laura from being a part of this, but I knew that as long as Sooraya was here, Laura wouldn't leave her side.

"No way to tell," I said with a shake of my head.

Then I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

"Psionic probe," Ororo said conversationally, but she was shivering now.

Sooraya dropped the watering can she was holding, spilling water over the wooden floor, and covered her mouth with her hands. Her eyes were wide and panicky. With all six claws out, Laura got to her feet, went to Sooraya, and put her arms around her waist. Marie tossed her book aside and stared at the apartment's door.

The door opened. I tried to draw my gun, but I couldn't move. Ororo's face was contorted as she struggled to do something, anything. Sooraya was openly sobbing, imprisoned in Laura's now unyielding arms. Marie almost managed to get to her feet, but then helplessly fell back into her chair.

Then the Egyptian walked in. He didn't really look particularly frightening. In fact, he was a young, short yet solid-looking guy with dark hair, brown eyes, and pock-marked cheeks. The white suit he was wearing was more distinctive than he was. If I'd seen him walking down the street in normal clothes, I would have assumed that he was just a working stiff from one of the Italian or Greek neighborhoods. And maybe that's who he was before the Egyptian took up residence.

The basic rule of fighting the Egyptian is that you may be able to take him if you can hit him by surprise. That's how people have managed to "kill" him before. But if you don't surprise the Egyptian - if he controlled the situation instead - then he controlled you. And that's exactly what happened to us. One by one, we got on our hands and knees and touched our foreheads to the floor. I was fighting as hard as I could to break free, but it didn't matter. We were directly under the gaze of the Egyptian.

"I will no longer tolerate this insolence," the Egyptian said. His voice was nothing like his unassuming appearance. It was very deep and something about it sounded old. Very, very, old. For some reason, a mental image entered my head of the Egyptian dressed as a Pharaoh, coldly lecturing a trembling group of errant slaves just before they were painfully taught the error of their ways.

Then he sighed tiredly, "Ororo, thanks to your association with that animal Logan, you will live. But you may be assured that I will someday settle the debt between us. As for the rest of you... it is such a terrible waste, but I have no choice but to eliminate you all."

"Yes, my Lord," we all said simultaneously.

"Ororo, stay. The rest of you, get up and follow me," he finished - almost regretfully. And Ororo remained on her hands and knees as the rest of us rose to our feet at the same time, like dancers who had been practicing the move for weeks.

Then another wave of nausea hit me as the others dropped their telepathic barriers.

Emma Frost and Betsy Braddock came out of the kitchen. Jean Grey and Charles Xavier from the bedroom - with Jean pushing the Professor's wheelchair. They had been there all along, hiding their presence behind shields of psychic force.

"Ah," the Egyptian said in disgust as he looked around.

The mistake everyone kept making was that they tried to kill the Egyptian with physical force. Maybe that was possible, but nobody had managed to make his death stick. You might say we were always bringing guns to a psychic fight. But this time we'd brought psychics to a psychic fight. A lot of really powerful psychics.

The Egyptian's hold on us slipped. I leaned forward as I strained against his control. I heard Ororo hiss and Laura growl as they did the same. Our part of the fight wasn't over. The Egyptian couldn't let us go because we'd clobber him physically and then the psychics could take their time as they worked on what was left of him. We had to make it hard for him to control us, while he was too distracted by the psychics to use us effectively.

Nobody moved as the invisible fight began. But just before it started, the Egyptian looked right into my eyes and said grudgingly, "Well played."

I honestly can't tell you what our psychics did next, but the Egyptian's hold on us suddenly collapsed. Marie slapped a hand against Laura's neck. Hissing angrily, I brought up my .45 and fired just as brutally-white lightning flared and roared through a snarling whirlwind of dust.

The Egyptian was knocked against the far wall and landed in a heap between Emma and Charles. Then he somehow managed to struggle to his knees.

And then Laura and Marie loped through the dust and wind towards the Egyptian, moving like beautiful, deadly lionesses, with fierce grins on their faces and their claws out and ready.

* * *

The Egyptian saw what was coming and tried to escape. With a long leap, he crashed through a window and onto the street below. Laura, Marie, and I followed him. As we scrambled out the window, a rain of shattered glass cascaded down from the apartment's roof as Ororo and Sooraya exited through the skylight.

I had to grab-and-fall my way to the street, but Laura and Marie were more direct. They simply landed in a crouch right on the sidewalk, side-by-side. All around us, people were screaming and running for cover as Ororo's storm lashed the sky and Sooraya swept waves of dust and debris through the street.

Then rain began falling. Thick, dark rain.

The Egyptian had hostages, of course. His kind always seem to find somebody innocent to hide behind. They were a young couple - a pair of handsome kids dressed in their Sunday best and probably out on a date. Now they stared blankly at us as the stood between us and the Egyptian. They were holding long shards of broken glass and blood was already trickling from their hands.

Fortunately, whatever Emma and the other psychics had done to snap us out of the Egyptian's control was apparently still working. I had my .45 leveled and pointed at the Egyptian's head. Laura was on my left and Marie was on my right. They were quickly, but carefully, circling around the hostages.

"Stop or they die," the Egyptian said in his old voice. The boy and the girl wordlessly put their blades of broken glass to their throats.

Marie stopped moving. And so - a bit to my surprise - did Laura.

"This battle is over," he continued coldly. "I will retire and these two will accompany me. When I am safe, I will let them go. Otherwise..."

The rain slowed and the roll and growl of thunder dimmed. I lowered my gun as Marie and Laura took a few cautious steps backwards.

I blinked hard to clear the rain from my eyes. And then a precise ripple of mud-filled rain slapped hard across the Egyptian's face. He staggered backwards and the two hostages seemed to blink in surprise.

Bless you, gracious lady, I thought.

My first shot took the Egyptian in the middle of his forehead. The second shot slammed into his right eye. As I took the Egyptian down, Marie and Laura lunged forward and tackled the hostages, bowling them over and slapping the glass daggers from their hands.

The Egyptian was now on his back and a big part of his head was missing, but incredibly enough he was still moving. Running up to him, I put another shot into his head and then four more into his chest. It wasn't time to play nice.

I was almost ready to relax when a dark shape rose out of the body. It was roughly human in shape, but the details were all horribly wrong. It seemed to be made of something like black smoke or fog, and I could see through it. Hovering over the body of the Egyptian, it smiled at me with teeth that were strangely sharp and white.

"Domino," it crooned at me, "I will amuse me to force your friends to kill you."

Then it moved towards me. Very fast. I was backpedaling as I desperately slapped a new clip into my .45, but I knew in my gut that a gun wouldn't help against this thing.

Its claws sunk into me - not physically, but in a way that was far worse - and I screamed. Marie tried to tackle it, but she simply flew right through. Laura hacked at it with her claws, but she might was well have been trying to cut through wood-smoke.

Gritting my teeth, I fought as hard as I could, but I could feel myself beginning to slide down a long, steep slope. And down at the bottom something hungry was laughing wildly and opening its jaws unnaturally wide...

*GET AWAY FROM HER!* someone shouted in my head.

In a flash of white light, Emma appeared among us. Like the Egyptian, she was indistinct around the edges and you could partially see through her. With a wordless snarl, Emma grabbed the Egyptian and pulled him off and away from me. I collapsed onto the street, and Marie immediately knelt next to me and took me in her arms. Laura and Sooraya were standing in front of us. And overhead, Ororo hovered like a guardian spirit as thunder rolled and her winds scoured the street around us.

Our part of the fight was over. Betsy, Charles, Emma, and Jean were now hovering in their psychic forms around the Egyptian. Their faces were set and grim while he frantically looked around for some way to escape.

Nobody made any melodramatic speeches or did anything visible. And I can't really say I understood what happened. But the Egyptian suddenly began screaming. And it went on for a long time before he finally seemed to just fade away and vanish.

Marie helped me to my feet. I wasn't injured, I just hurt like hell.

Sooraya was sobbing as Laura clung to her.

Wet and wind-tossed, Ororo stared for a long time at the stretch of concrete where the Egyptian had finally died. Then she spat on it.

* * *

The cops never did appear. Instead, a boat-load of Logan's people showed up fairly quickly. Then they set up a perimeter around Ororo's apartment building.

I gave Betsy a long, hard look.

"You didn't want reinforcements?" she asked me irritably. "Just in case the Egyptian brought some of his troops with him? Or Lehnsherr decided to show up?"

Okay, she had a point. I apologetically waved off my objections.

About a half-hour later, Logan and Hank put in an appearance.

I told Logan the whole story as he examined me with cold, hard, and rather surprised eyes. Then he looked at Laura, who was keeping to the background near Sooraya and was obviously not sure what to say to him.

They went for a walk. After they came back, Laura and Sooraya got into a car and left with Logan. I would have given anything to see his reaction to Laura's claim that she was the father of Sooraya's baby.

Emma and Betsy kept a watch on what was left of the Egyptian's body. The psychics talked a lot of mumbo-jumbo about things like "the psychic plane" and "spirit survival" and "psionic entities" and "extra-planar death", but the gist of it was that they were pretty sure the Egyptian wasn't coming back this time. However, they weren't taking any chances and I wildly approved of that. Emma suggested destroying the body in a special, high-temperature crematoria that the University used for dangerous medical specimens. Scott and Bobby liked that idea and all four of them took off to take care of it.

Ororo and Warren almost had a hell of a fight. Warren roared into the apartment scared to death and ready to take on anybody or anything. When he saw that it was all over, he started to ask Ororo some hard questions about what had happened and why she hadn't called him. It only stopped when he saw that Ororo was shivering like a frightened rabbit. She hugged him tight and he hugged her back. As near as I can tell, that was the end of the fight.

Jean and a couple of Logan's people escorted Dr. Xavier to the train station. Charles and Jean seemed delighted to see one another again. They were chatting like old friends as she helped him into a taxi.

Marie and I went home and she re-dressed the wound on my leg. We tried to eat dinner, but we weren't really hungry. Then we took a bath together and went to bed early. And we made love over and over again. I knew there would be more to the story, but just for that night I just wanted to forget everything else and be with Marie.

* * *

The next day, I went through channels and politely asked to see Erik. He agreed. We met in a small restaurant in the old German part of town. As was usually the case, he didn't have any visible bodyguards with him. I can't make up my mind if he's supremely self-confident - or has somebody or something in his corner that we can't see.

"Do you know what happened to the Egyptian?" I asked.

He put down the wine-list and nodded.

"The news of what happened was hard to miss," he said urbanely. "Dealing with him was most distasteful, and his death is a very good thing. That is why I'm buying you lunch. I recommend the sauerbraten."

The waiter stopped by and Erik ordered a bottle of wine. I waited until that was done.

"I'm checking to make sure the Laura isn't a problem," I continued. "And to make it clear that I didn't take her from you."

Erik sighed, "The exact sequence of events that led to Laura's escape are known to me. And I am aware that you were not involved."

I nodded, "Okay, I'm glad that's settled. But what about Laura?"

He put his menu down and looked at me speculatively.

"I'm not sure I catch your meaning, Domino."

"Do you still want her?"

He looked disgusted and shook his head, "No. Such a course of action at the present time would be very unwise. Frankly, I consider my involvement with Laura to have been a bit of a fiasco. I had hoped to acquire some leverage over Logan, but I should have known that the apple did not fall very far from the tree."

I chuckled, "Believe me, I know what you're talking about. She's a handful."

The waiter stopped by with a bottle of wine. He and Erik went through that formal routine where Erik decided he would accept the bottle. Then the waiter poured for us.

I took a sip from my glass. Erik had made an excellent choice. The wine was outstanding.

"So where is she from, anyway?" I asked idly. "At first, I assumed Logan was her father, but she swears that's not true."

Erik hesitated before answering, "The people who made Logan into what he is are still in business. And they are continuing in their efforts to create the perfect soldier. The details about Laura are complicated, but he is not her father, although you could say that she is related to him."

"And you bought Laura from those guys?"

He smiled, "At a bargain price. It seems they were having problems handling her."

That made me laugh.

Erik picked up the menu, "At least now she is Logan's problem."

"I feel kind of sorry for him." I said. And I meant it.

Foolish me. If I had even the faintest clue of the problem Laura was going to be in the future, I would have immediately jumped up from the table, ran to my office, grabbed Marie, and fled to the west coast.

* * *

I was walking from the restaurant to my car when a Rolls-Royce limo pulled up beside me. Two guesses who was inside.

The rear window rolled down and Emma smiled at me. "Get in," she ordered.

I shrugged and did as I was told. Hey, I owed the lady. The back of her Rolls was bigger than some apartments I've lived in. A lot posher, too. The driver was separated from us by a glass partition. A curtain that could be slid across the partition made it possible to hide whatever was going on in the back from the driver. I idly wondered how often Emma found it necessary to do that.

"Would you care for a drink?" Emma asked when she noticed that I was staring at the built-in wet-bar.

I laughed, "No thanks, Emma. I just had a few with Erik. The guy has a hollow leg. Sometimes I think he and Logan should settle their differences with a drinking contest. It would be quite a match."

Emma chuckled and shook her head.

"So what do you want?" I asked.

"I wanted to apologize," she said. "I certainly didn't intend to get you into a situation that dangerous. Actually, I rather hoped that you would let the case go once I mentioned the Egyptian."

I nodded, "I came close to doing just that, but I got curious. And..."

Then I hesitated, not sure what else to say.

"Domino, your curiousity is going to get you killed one of these days," Emma said sharply.

"Probably," I replied with a sigh, "But while you're here, there's something I've been wondering about. What was it that Erik wanted you to do? I think we can safely say that you don't owe him your silence any longer."

Emma didn't hesitate, "He wanted a psychic scan of the city. Erik was hoping I could find that very lethal young lady he'd lost."

"No luck?"

"Finding somebody that you do not know via a psychic scan is quite tricky," Emma answered. And, yeah, I noticed that she didn't quite answer my question. But just as obviously, she hadn't told Erik where to find Laura. A lot of people aren't sure where Emma fits in - is she one of the good guys or one of the bad guys? I confess to having some doubts of my own on that score. But I was willing to say that Emma had been on the right side of the street in this particular mess.

"One other thing," Emma said.

"What's that?"

"I'm considering starting a school," Emma continued.

I certainly didn't expect that. The idea of Emma as a school-teacher made me smile.

She rolled her eyes at me, "Stop that, Domino. The idea is that I'll provide the money for a special school: a school for young people who are like us. More and more people with unique abilities are appearing. And it's time somebody came up with a way of helping youngsters with special powers adapt to this world - or else more of them will end up in the hands of people like the Eqyptian."

That made me frown thoughtfully, "Okay. I see your point. But what's it to me?"

"I'll need teachers, Dom."

I laughed out loud, "Oh, come on, Emma! You can't mean me!"

"I do," Emma said flatly.

"What would I teach? Dirty fighting and gunplay?"

"You don't consider those to be important skills?" Emma replied archly.

Well... "Of course, but what about the more traditional stuff?"

Emma didn't seem put-off by my skepticism, "I'm working on that."

"Has anyone else signed on with this crazy idea?"

"So far, I've talked to three other people. They all agree that the idea has merit."

"Who are they?" I asked immediately.

"Logan, Erik, and Charles Xavier," Emma replied.

I gave Emma the raised eyebrow, "Logan and Erik have agreed to this?"

Emma nodded, her eyes narrow and calculating, "I mentioned how Laura's presence came close to starting a war between them. And how the Egyptian had managed to keep Sooraya - a fairly powerful young lady - under his thumb without anyone being the wiser. If it was understood that those sort of children were to be cared for in a neutral setting, it might prevent quite a few problems."

"You've got a point," I conceded.

"You'll consider my offer?" Emma asked.

I slowly nodded my head, "I can't promise anything right now, Emma, but... well... I think you've got a good idea here. Put me on the list of people interested in what you're trying to do."

"This isn't going to happen tomorrow," Emma sighed. "It will take some time to organize, but I'll be in touch."

I nodded again.

* * *

Over the next few days, the fallout continued. Through the grapevine, I heard that Erik and Logan had a long, long talk. A lot of people held their breath while that was going on, but nothing lethal happened and the peace held. As near as I can tell, Logan decided to ignore the fact that Erik had been trying to play games with him. Erik gritted his teeth and swallowed the losses in time and money and pride that he'd taken in bringing Laura to town - and then losing her. Personally, I wondered if Emma's crazy scheme of setting up some kind of school for kids like Sooraya and Laura had something to do with the lack of hostilities. Had Emma managed to find a point of common ground between them? And how much of that had been a part of Emma's plan all along?

A week after the Egyptian departed this mortal coil for a place with a much warmer climate, Marie and I got a very nice bonus from Logan.

"We're rich," I said to Marie. Which really wasn't true, but it sure sounded good.

Marie smiled as she tucked back a rebellious wisp of hair, "You're taking me out to dinner tonight. At a fancy place. Then we'll go for drinks and dancing. If you play your cards right, I might do something exciting and indecent to you in the car while we're driving home. So wear a skirt - and don't bother with panties."

That certainly sounded interesting. We sealed the deal with a kiss. And then Sooraya walked in the office. It occurred to me that we were going to have to start locking the damned door.

"Hello," Sooraya said, obviously she was mildly embarrassed to catch us at such a personal moment. It actually took me a second to recognize her, and her voice gave it away more than anything else. The veil was gone. Her hair was in a long ponytail and somebody had convinced her to wear a prim black dress and a pair of low heels. She looked great.

"Hey, kid," I said in surprise as Marie shook her head and stepped back from me. "Uhm... everything's okay, right? Why are you here?"

"I work here," Sooraya said as she glanced at Marie.

I blinked hard. Then I noticed that Marie was smiling.

"Marie!" I yelled.

"I'm the office manager," Marie said serenely. "So I can hire new help if we need it."

"But we don't need any help!" I protested.

That was when Marie dropped five file folders on my desk. They were case-folders. New case-folders. I dazedly picked one of them up and flipped through it.

"We helped ice the Egyptian," Marie continued. "And Logan is saying good things about us to everyone who will listen. So our credit on the street is really strong. I had to turn down two other jobs this morning - so it's time to hire somebody."

I looked through the other case-folders, reading the summaries as I went. The money looked... good. Real good.

Wow.

Then I looked at Sooraya and said warily, "What do you know about being a private eye?"

She didn't even hesitate before replying, "Nothing, but Miss Marie hired me as a secretary."

I gave "Miss Marie" a long look.

"I've had it with sitting here and chewing my nails down to nothing as you get into God knows what kinds of trouble," she declared with absolute finality. "From now on, when you're on a case, I'm with you."

I looked to heaven for guidance. No luck. And actually, there wasn't a lot to complain about. When you get down to it, Marie is just as capable on the job as I am. In some ways, maybe more.

"I can file and type and do bookkeeping," Sooraya offered helpfully. "And I speak five languages."

Then Sooraya gently touched her bulging belly, "And Mr. Logan has said he will pay for my baby when he comes. So that won't be a problem."

I nodded warily. Then a worrisome thought suddenly occured to me. "What about Laura?" I asked.

Sooraya smiled fondly, "We have a small apartment uptown and she is taking classes. Logan and I have convinced her that learning English, math, science, history, and dance will make her a better assassin."

"She's in a school!?" I gasped in horror. My stomach was turning over as I visualized the potential carnage the first time a young boy with a case of puppy-love shoved a frog into her face.

"No," Sooraya said as she shook her head, "For now, she has private tutors. Logan and I both hope she can someday have a more normal childhood, but for now..."

I nodded in relief. And suddenly, Emma's idea about a special school for - what was that word Doctor Xavier used? Mutants? - seemed like a good idea instead of a wild one.

Marie had that "I'm not budging an inch" look about her. Grudgingly giving in to the inevitable, I picked up one of the case-folders and opened it.

"Which case do you want to start with?" Marie asked.

"The Stark job," I said absently as I read the file.

"What's that?" Sooraya asked curiously.

"Tony Stark. He's a zillionaire inventor who has his fingers in a lot of pies. He wants another rich guy - a pretty-boy named Bruce Wayne - followed. Nothing specific, just regular reports on what Wayne's doing and who he's seeing."

"Yeah, that sounds like a fairly dull job," Marie inserted thoughtfully. "Probably financial espionage."

"Probably," I agreed, "but I heard on the radio that Wayne will be in town this afternoon, so this case goes to the top of the list. And a simple job like this will be a good place to start."

"Let's go!" Marie purred. There was an eager smile on her face.

I couldn't help but grin.


	3. The Case of the Burning Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious -- and perhaps crazy -- street person known as 'the Tinman' hires Domino and Rogue to track down a Mrs. Rogers and her young son Steven. Nazis and a rival PI named Maria Hill promptly become a part of the case. And Maria has a disturbing tendency to turn into what seems to be a demon from hell...

THE CASE OF THE BURNING BONES

"I wish to employ your services," the broken man sitting in front of my desk said. Despite his strange appearance, his voice was filled with calm authority.

Soorya - the Afghani girl who's my secretary - was frightened, but trying not to show it. Marie hovered behind me, ready for anything, but trying not to look threatening. I was sitting at my desk, trying to look professional. All in all, there was more acting going on in the office of Domino Investigations than in your typical movie.

Our guest, on the other hand, was certainly more composed than we were. Otherwise, he looked terrible. He was thin and gaunt and I found myself wondering when he'd last eaten. His clothes were shabby and unkept... although if you looked close you'd notice that both he and they were reasonably clean. That's a tough trick to pull off when you live on the streets. I found myself wondering how he pulled it off.

I suppose it was the mask that bothered people the most. It covered the left side of his face, from forehead to chin. It was made of tin and once it had been painted to resemble human flesh, but now it was battered and worn to the point that nothing but bare metal showed. It was intended to conceal a terrible, disfiguring injury and you could see tendrils of scar-tissue creeping out from under the half-mask's edges. It was the best that the modern world could do for people who had somehow lost their faces. The Great War had produced more than a few such men and the story on the street was that the Tinman was one of them.

Our prospective client was a common sight around the dingier parts of town. He was a kook who rambled about, mouthing nonsense, but generally keeping to himself. Everyone assumed that the war that had destroyed his face had also wrecked his mind. People looked at his mask, called him the Tinman, and tried to pretend that he didn't exist. Mutilated and mad are a bad combination. People don't like being reminded that we're all living on the edge of an abyss, and it's all too easy to fall in.

I'd last seen the Tinman just a month ago, being escorted out of the financial district by a pair of strangely nervous police officers. He was calmly telling the cops that one of the most prominent men in town was actually the leader of a Satanic cult.

Sooraya placed a cup of tea on the table next to the man, bowed silently, and backed away. The Tinman gratefully picked up the cup in a hand that was missing two fingers and spotted with puckered burn scars. Then he pulled a wooden straw out of his pocket and put it in the teacup. He said something to Sooraya just before he took a sip. Sooraya and I both blinked in surprise. I don't speak Pashtun, but I've picked up a few basic phrases from Sooraya. The Tinman had just thanked Sooraya in her own language.

"How can we help you?" I asked. I had a wretched feeling how this was going to go. I don't really have the time for charity work and I doubted that the Tinman either had the money to pay us or had a story that would make any sense. So I'd listen to what he had to say and then try to gently shrug him off.

The Tinman used the hand that wasn't holding his tea to fish a ragged sheet of paper from the interior of his coat. He put it on my desk and I automatically picked it up. It was an envelope that had been split open to expose more surface area. Judging from the smell, it had been fished out of a trash can.

On what had been the exterior of the envelope was a pair of names and addresses that indicated it had been sent from a stationary shop to a law firm. But on what had been the envelope interior was a quite passable sketch of a boy and a woman. They resembled each other and I assumed they were mother and son. She was handsome, but care-worn. The boy looked on the scrawny side.

"The boy will be important someday," the Tinman said intently. "And there are men in town who wish to harm him. I want you to find the boy and keep him safe."

Right. I sighed internally and opened my mouth to tell the Tinman that I couldn't help him.

To my utter amazement, five gold coins clattered onto my desktop. Double eagles. You don't see that sort of thing too often nowadays. And that was obviously a lot of money for a man who was supposedly a homeless derelict to be throwing around.

"What's the boy's name?" I asked.

"I don't know," the Tinman said regretfully.

"Do you know where he lives?"

"No. However, I have seen him and his mother at Union Park. I believe she sometimes works as a charwoman."

"Why is the boy so important?"

"I don't know."

"Who wants to hurt him?"

"Men who are in the service of a tremendous evil. It is important that they be stopped."

Well, that was certainly informative. The Tinman's one remaining eye met my eyes. It was blue and seemed clear and sane. Marie put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently.

I slid four of the coins back towards the Tinman, leaving one on my side of the desk. Twenty dollars was about right for a job that I suspected would go nowhere.

"We'll take a look," I said. "But given that we don't have a lot to work with, I can't promise much."

"I'm sure you will do your best," said the Tinman as he scooped up the other four coins. Then he finished his tea and stood up. "I will visit you again tomorrow to see if you've had any luck."

Just before he left, the Tinman paused and said something to Sooraya. Sooraya taken aback.

"What was that?" Marie asked after the door closed behind our new client.

Sooraya was eight months pregnant. She frowned and touched her belly. "He said my baby will be a boy. And someday he will be a mighty warrior."

* * *

As we drove to Union Park, Marie asked to see the coin the Tinman had given me. I handed it over and she examined it carefully.

"Minted in 1894, but it looks brand new," she said thoughtfully as she held it up in the light and turned it over and over in her hands.

"You think it's fake?" I asked.

Marie shook her head, "No. It has the feel and heft of real gold. But where does a crazy street bum get five of these?"

I shrugged, "Good question. I wondered the same thing myself."

She handed the coin back to me and I pocketed it awkwardly between shifting gears.

"We better keep quiet about those coins," Marie added.

I nodded. This city was filled with people who wouldn't hesitate to rob or even kill the Tinman if they knew he was carrying around that kind of money. There's something about gold... Money makes people evil, but gold makes people evil and crazy.

"What do you know about the Tinman?" Marie asked.

I shook my head, "Nothing much. According to what I've heard, he was injured in the war and has been wandering the streets for years."

"What was he before the war? What's his real name?"

"No idea," I replied. For some reason, my answer bothered me. It didn't seem right that whoever the Tinman had once been was gone and forgotten.

* * *

The Depression was still kicking the country's ass and a lot of people were still in trouble. Union Park had a soup kitchen, but it was also a place where people without jobs gathered to look for work. If you asked around, you could get anything from violin lessons to a blowjob.

Marie and I were quartering the area, trying to spot our boy or his mother. We weren't quite at the stage where we would start showing people the Tinman's sketch. If the kid was really in danger, I wanted to find him before anyone knew we were looking for him.

We weren't having any luck. But then I spotted some guys who just didn't fit in with the rest of the crowd. There were three of them. All tough-looking characters dressed in new, off-the-rack suits. And from the way they were scanning the crowd, they also seemed to be looking for someone.

Marie and I casually drifted back together.

"What do you think?" Marie said. Tension was causing some of her Southern accent to creep into her voice.

"These guys could have nothing to do with our case," I said reasonably. "But if so, it's a hell of a coincidence."

"Want me to tap one?" Marie asked.

I frowned. Marie was offering to "accidentally" bump into one of the new guys. Her power might very well knock the guy flat, but she would get a look into the guy's head. That could provide a lot of useful information, but at the cost of letting them know that someone with powers was also involved in the search. My gut said it was too soon to take it that far.

"Tail them," I told Marie. She doesn't stick out in a crowd as much as I do. And she can more than take care of herself.

"Okay," Marie nodded. "But what are you going to do?"

"Talk to Fred."

"Fred?" Marie said in surprise. Then she looked around.

And there he was. Big as life. Bigger, as a matter of fact. Fred Dukes, doing the work of three men as he unloaded a truck full of donated food for the hungry crowd.

"I'll be damned," Marie said with a small smile.

* * *

Fred is a big, round, tough-guy who works for a petty gangster named Pietro, doing jobs that require more muscle than brains. Oddly enough, once upon a time I used to work for Pietro as well, which is how Fred and I met. How I ended up with Pietro is a long story - I once thought there was more to him than there actually was. Fred has a soft spot for me, and I use that ruthlessly. I can't help but feel bad about that, but Fred knows a lot of people and is a great window into the world of small gangs and low-rent crooks.

"Dom!" Fred said with a big, gap-toothed grin. He had four man-sized bags of vegetables - ingredients for the soup kitchen - slung over his huge shoulders.

"Hey, Fred," I replied as I hefted another bag from the truck and followed him into the tent kitchen.

Fred dropped his sacks onto a roughly knocked-together table that groaned under the weight. I decided to put mine on floor next to the table as Fred paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. A trio of older women dressed in aprons - Salvation Army volunteers - began opening the bags and organizing the contents. In the background, huge pots of water were being brought to a boil on a pair of old Army field stoves. Something like a dozen people were tending the pots, chopping vegetables, and counting out freshly washed bowls and spoons.

"I didn't know you were volunteering here!" Fred said delightedly. A malformed turnip had spilled onto the floor. Fred absent-mindedly picked it up and began munching on it like an apple.

"I'm not. But I saw you and thought you might need a hand."

"Great! Hey... are you on a case?"

Fred's smarter than he looks, which is not hard to do, I suppose. I pulled the carefully folded sketch that the Tinman had given me out of my jacket pocket and showed it to him.

"Do you know them?" I asked.

Fred didn't even hesitate, "Yeah, I've seen her around. Nice rack. Friendly, too. I kinda worry about the kid, though. He doesn't seem real healthy. Barely eats."

"Do you know her name?"

Fred shook his head, "Never caught it."

"Any idea where they live?"

"In that Hooverville under the Lincoln bridge."

Bingo.

"Thanks, Fred," I said. Then I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He actually blushed.

Outside the tent, the crowd was forming up into a line despite the fact the food wouldn't be ready for an hour to two. One thing poor people always have is time.

Marie was waiting for me.

"Got anything?" I asked.

She nodded toward the park entrance. The three guys in suits were standing there, talking to a young, dark-complected woman who had black, unfashionably short hair. She was wearing tight-fitting brown leather pants and a matching jacket and was sitting on a motorcycle as she talked to the men.

"The mooks are Germans," Marie said quietly. "I got close enough to hear them talking to each other, but I don't know the lingo well enough to know what they're saying. Their English, on the other hand, is damn near perfect. You'd swear they all came from the Midwest. They're asking around for the mother, but all they have is a description."

Marie paused to glance at the girl on the motorcycle, "I don't know who she is. She just showed up."

"Her name's Maria Hill," I said. "She's a competitor."

Marie raised an eyebrow, "A private dick?"

"More of a a private dyke," I said with a smile.

Marie gave me a look that was half-disgusted and half-amused. "Some might say that describes us."

I grinned at Marie, "Yep. Hey... speaking of which, when are you going to stop wearing skirts and high-heels and start wearing pants and sensible shoes?"

"Never. I have to keep up appearances. I'm obviously the submissive, feminine half of our unnatural relationship."

I either laughed or snorted at that. It was hard to tell the difference.

"Besides," Marie said softly, her eyes still on the unlikely group at the park entrance, "wouldn't you miss that magical moment where you reach under my skirt and slide off my panties? Remember last month, when we were on that stakeout in your car?"

I winced. The guy we had been watching walked out of his house at exactly the wrong moment. Sex with your stakeout partner is really unprofessional, but whenever Marie and I are alone and don't have much else to keep us occupied... well, they say idle hands are the devil's workshop.

"Maybe we better talk about something else," I said hastily.

"Did Fred have anything?" Marie asked.

"He says he's seen the mother and the boy. He didn't know any names, but he says they live under the Lincoln bridge."

As we watched, Maria and the Germans came to some kind of decision. Maria zoomed off on her motorcyle, headed uptown. The Germans got into a brand-new Ford and headed downtown.

There was a collection box for the soup kitchen on a table near the park's entrance. I dropped the Tinman's gold coin into it as we walked out of the park.

* * *

Marie looked around at the shantytown that we were standing in with no particular expression. In her bright dress, she stood out, but her part of the South hasn't seen much in the way of prosperity since General Sherman visited it back in 1864. She once told me that she was a teenager before she owned a pair of shoes. When you got down to it, she was more used to both the sight and the reality of grinding poverty than I was.

The old man squinted at the sketch I was holding in front of him as he meditatively sucked on his teeth.

"Yeah... yeah... I know her," he said. "Mrs. Rogers. She's a widow - and a nice gal. She used to live over there."

The old man punctuated his words by pointing at a hovel made up of fragments of wooden packing crates. It leaned precariously against the corner of a bridge stanchion. I suppose it might help keep off the worst of the rain and cold, but not by much. At the moment, a ragged looking teenager was sitting cross-legged in the irregular entrance-way, moaning softly to himself as he rocked slowly back-and-forth. Opium, if I had to make a guess. and he was in pretty deep. He'd be dead in a few months. Or weeks.

"Used to live there?" I repeated.

The old man nodded vigorously, "She got a job as a cleaning woman at a downtown hotel. It's called the Clarion. Part of the job is that they give her and her boy room and board. It sounded like a good deal."

Marie gave the old man a buck. His eyes just about popped out of his head.

* * *

The Clarion Hotel had seen better days, but it was still a respectable place for out-of-towners to spend a night or two. Which meant that the house detective took one look at Marie and I and immediately accosted us before we got halfway into the lobby.

"Ladies," he began carefully. "There is a hotel just down the street called the Grandview that you might find more suitable."

The Grandview was actually a nice place. And it was more willing to tolerate same-sex couples than a lot of other high-end hotels. Marie and I had stayed there once as a treat after we closed a big case. She got a huge kick out of the room service.

Actually, I had to give the house detective credit. It's not like Marie and I were carrying picket signs that said "LESBIAN STRUMPETS!" in big red letters, yet he had picked us out immediately. And he was being polite about it and making a good recommendation.

I reached for the thin leather wallet that held my private eye license - this city doesn't actually have a badge for PIs - and said, "We're here on business."

The guy took a deep breath and said, "Never the less, ladies..."

"Look at me," Marie said very flatly, before I could show the house detective my license.

The house detective blinked and gave Marie a long look. Then a look of startled recognition appeared on his face. And then he turned pale. Marie used to be with a guy called Logan. Logan runs the biggest and baddest gang in town. Marie and Logan weren't an item any longer, but not everyone knew that. And in any case, it really wasn't worth taking the chance that Logan might not feel protective about an old girlfriend. Hell, it was something I thought about every now and then. I knew for a fact that Logan still cared for Marie.

"My friend and I are going to go where we want and do what we want in this place," Marie said quietly. "And if I decide to eat her out on that fine piano sitting over there in the corner, you will do nothing more than politely hand me a napkin when I'm done with her. Understand?"

The detective nodded jerkily.

"Now, go away."

The detective nodded again and vanished.

"I have two things to say," I said after a long and startled pause.

Marie cocked her head at me, but didn't say anything.

"First off - that was maybe too much. The guy was just doing his job. And he was trying to be polite about it. And we might have been able to play the professional courtesy card once we explained that we didn't want a room."

Marie shrugged, "Maybe, but I get sick of the bullshit sometimes. And we do have to find Mrs. Rogers before those other guys do."

"You're right. But let's be a little careful about dropping the Logan bomb. It draws attention."

"Okay, but what's the second thing you have to say?" Marie asked.

"That I'm so turned on right now that the piano thing actually sounds like a good idea."

Marie smiled and ran her fingers through the white streak in her hair. "Later. I'd prefer a little more privacy."

* * *

After our little encounter with the house detective, the rest of the Clarion's staff weren't inclined to give us any trouble. We found Mrs. Rogers within a few minutes. She was in the middle of making a bed in a fourth floor room when I politely knocked on the open door.

"Sorry. I'll be done in just a few minutes," Mrs. Rogers told us. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, but her blonde hair already had a touch of gray. She wasn't pretty anymore - living in a shack underneath a bridge will do that to you - but her trim body and strong features would still draw a second look from most men. Her voice had the merest trace of an Irish accent. She'd probably been really young when her family came to America from the old country.

Now came the tricky part. I had to convince Mrs. Rogers to cooperate with us when she had no reason in the world to do that.

I had just opened my mouth when we heard a rapid pair of shots. They came from somewhere downstairs.

* * *

Despite the fact she was wearing high heels, Marie beat me to the stairwell. But I passed her as we clattered down the steps. Once I broke into the lobby, a continuous, high-pitched scream directed me behind the check-in desk.

I had my .45 automatic out as I entered the hotel's back office. The house detective was on the floor, his blood soaking into the threadbare carpet and a short-barreled .38 revolver loosely gripped in his dead hand.

A back door that obviously led into the alley behind the hotel was open. A desk clerk was screaming at the top of her lungs as she stared at the body of the house detective. A frightened bellhop took one look at me, made the assumption that I was a lady cop, and pointed to the door and yelled, "That way! He went that way! And he's got Steve!"

It was fifty-fifty which way I should be pointing my gun when I ran into the alley. I trusted to my luck - always a good bet for me - and found myself aiming at the mouth of the alleyway. One of the Germans from Union Park had an automatic pistol in one hand and little Steve Rogers firmly grabbed in the other. The kid was fighting, but he was a scrawny little thing and the German was manhandling him without much problem.

Maria Hill was there as well. She looked shocked and pissed-off. I understood. I hate working with violence-prone idiots, too. Hill had a revolver and as I watched she pointed it at the thug's head and snarled in passable German, "Put the weapon down and let the kid go!"

The German hesitated, obviously surprised by what Hill was doing. I added to his woes by pointing my .45 at him and yelling, "Drop it!"

Neither Hill or I wanted to take a shot while there was a kid near our target. That made sense, but maybe we should have done it anyway.

The German looked at Hill. Then he looked at me. Then he smiled and dropped his gun. The smile should have warned us. The German said something. It was a word with a lot more consonants than vowels. I didn't recognize the language.

And then Maria Hill burst into flames.

* * *

Hill screamed like a damned soul and collapsed. The German ran, dragging the kid behind him. I took a distracted shot at him, but only managed to clip the alley wall. Otherwise, there wasn't any time to think. I sprinted forward, pulling off my jacket as I went. I was going to try to use it to smother the flames that were engulfing Hill, even though I had a sick feeling in my gut that there wasn't a hospital in the world that could save her. Hill was on fire from head to foot, but maybe all of that leather motorcycle gear she was wearing would protect her enough to...

My footsteps faltered and I ground to an amazed halt as Maria Hill slowly climbed to her feet. Her face was gone and replaced by a burning skull. The brighter flames in the skull's sockets seemed to look right at me from the hottest part of hell.

Impossibly, the jaws of the skull worked as it tried to speak to me.

"Sinner," it finally said. Its voice sounded like hot steam grumbling its way through the boiler of a battleship.

Without thinking, I emptied my .45 into the thing that used to be Maria Hill. All six shots slammed into its chest. The cumulative effect was that it staggered backwards a few steps. And that was all.

It was impossible that the thing before me could smile, but as it looked at me, it seemed to do just that.

I turned and ran back into the hotel.

* * *

"Run! RUN!" I yelled as I barreled my way back into the hotel.

Marie had finally caught up to me. She was carrying her shoes in one hand and the handgun she keeps in her purse was in the other. The bellhop was on his knees, trying to do the impossible by pressing a folded up towel against the house detective's wounds. The clerk had stopped screaming and was on the phone, frantically calling for help.

The civilians gaped at me. Marie moved off to the side and leveled her gun at the door. Nobody ran. So much for any leadership abilities I might have thought I possessed.

Than the thing that had been Maria Hill followed me into the room. It's flames cast a strange yellow-orange light and the temperature immediately jumped about ten degrees.

The bellhop didn't make a sound as he finally took my advice and sprinted away. The clerk started screaming again as she dropped the phone, but at least she followed the bellhop out into the lobby.

Marie didn't scream. She just fired her pistol carefully and precisely, emptying the cylinder. I didn't bother to look behind me, but I was willing to bet she scored more hits than not. The problem was, her .38 wasn't going to stop something that had just absorbed a half-dozen .45 slugs. But apparently her gunfire bought us some time.

I grabbed Marie's arm as I ran past her. I could feel my luck flowing into her. Good, she was going to need all she could get.

Together, we scrambled over the desk that separated the office from the lobby. The thing behind us just ploughed through it. There was a tremendous crash and chunks of wood exploded everywhere. A half-dozen guests who were in the lobby, drawn by the noise and excitement, watched us in amazement. But once they saw the thing, they shrieked in unison and scattered in every direction.

Marie and I lunged through the front door and out onto the sidewalk. The thing followed us by jumping through the plate-glass window that was the pride and joy of the Clarion Hotel. It was fast and it didn't seem to have to worry about obstructions. And we didn't have any way to stop it.

We were in trouble. It would take the wildest stroke of luck for us to survive.

The wildest stroke of luck was in the process of getting out of a car in front of the Clarion. It was Kitty Pryde, one of this city's crazier powered hitters. She works for Logan. She and I really don't like each other, but at the moment that wasn't much of an issue. Her eyes were comically wide as she stared at the wild scene unfolding in front of her.

"Hi, Kitty," Marie said almost conversationally. Then she wrapped her arm around Kitty and planted a big kiss on her lips. With her other arm, she hooked me in until we were all three locked into an awkward embrace. Then all three of us went desolid and fell through the sidewalk and several yards of concrete, brick, and earth, before tumbling into a sewer tunnel. Just before we vanished under the earth, I could have sworn I heard the thing pursuing us roar in rage.

* * *

"I'm gonna kill you both," Kitty gasped after she spat out a mouthful of unspeakably foul water.

"Looks like you're going to have to wait your turn," I snapped back as Marie helped me to my feet. I was woozy from all of the contact with her.

"What the hell was that thing?" Marie gasped.

"Maria Hill," I answered distractedly.

"What?!" Marie exclaimed.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU BOTH!" Kitty screeched as she produced a switchblade from somewhere and flicked it open. She has a nasty knife-fighting style that involves sliding in and out of solidity. Yeah, she can do that sort of thing. Kitty's a dangerous piece of work, but at the moment she was trembling and barely keeping on her feet. Marie's power had done a job on her.

"Your powers aren't working right now," Marie told Kitty as she gingerly stepped out of the water and onto a short ledge that was adjacent to the watercourse.

"What?!" Kitty said as she paused in confusion. To be fair, a lot was happening to her at once.

I broke Kitty's nose and took her knife away.

* * *

We walked a couple of blocks and then I climbed an access ladder and shouldered open a manhole cover. I imagine we were quite the sight as we crawled out of the sewers. More than a few people stopped to stare at us. Down the street, a crowd was gathering in front of the Clarion Hotel, but I couldn't see any sign of the thing that had been chasing us. And besides, the crowd indicated that it wasn't in the area any longer. I can't imagine anyone who saw it would stick around.

"We should keep moving," I told Marie and Kitty.

Marie helped Kitty out of the manhole.

"I'm gonna kill you both," Kitty wept. Her nose was assuming epic size and color, both eyes were turning black, and blood was dribbling down her chin. I think the tears were more from humiliation than pain. Kitty's crazy and I'm not sure she actually feels pain like normal people.

"Don't pull a weapon on us again," I said shortly.

"Would it do any good if we said we were sorry?" Marie asked.

"No. I'm gonna kill..."

"WE KNOW!" I yelled.

"Come on, Kitty," Marie said softly. "We've got to get out of here. And then we'll get cleaned up and I'll take a look at your nose."

Kitty hesitated. Then she nodded. Damned if I know how Marie does that.

* * *

The apartment that Marie and I shared was closer than my office, so we went there. A while back, we decided to move in together. Our new apartment was an okay place - certainly better than the places where we both live before, but I sometimes missed Marie's old apartment. It had been the size of a largish closet and there'd been a huge neon sign that blinked all night long just outside her window. The first time we made love had been there. I remembered the way the alternating red light took turns revealing and concealing her nude body...

I shook my head to clear it. We didn't have time to be either nostalgic or horny.

We took turns in the shower. Kitty ended up in Marie's old robe. Given how small Kitty is, she looked like a kid wearing some of her big sister's clothes.

Marie cleaned up Kitty as best she could, put some cotton in her nostrils to soak up the blood, set her nose, and then put some surgical tape over it to keep it in place until Kitty could see a real doctor. A few years in the PI business - first as a secretary and then as an actual investigator - had given her a fair amount of practical experience with the kinds of injuries that come with the job.

Kitty had finally calmed down. I knew this incident was going to end up high on the list of reasons why Kitty hated me, but at least she wasn't in one of her psycho rages at the moment.

"What were you doing at the hotel?" I asked Kitty as I put a shot of whiskey in front of her.

Kitty drained the glass immediately and then held it out for more.

"I wasn't going into the hotel. I was going into the barbershop next door. It's one of our bookie shops and I was going to walk the receipts home. Just what the hell did I run into?"

I refilled her glass. "We're on a case. The details are messy and it got kind of weird. I don't know for sure where the burning skeleton fits in."

Kitty shook her head, "You know something? I don't really care. I don't want to know. You're a pain in the ass, Domino. Trouble follows you everywhere."

I couldn't argue with that.

Then Kitty looked at Marie, "For God's sake, Rogue. Ditch this crazy bitch. Come back to us. Logan will take you back in a heartbeat - you know that."

Marie just smiled sadly, but didn't say anything. Then she reached over and pushed a stray lock of Kitty's hair away from her eyes. It says something about Kitty that she didn't flinch away from Marie's touch.

Kitty sighed and slugged down her whiskey.

* * *

Kitty drank a lot more of my whiskey. Then she put on her still-damp clothes, made a dispirited-sounding threat or two in my direction, and tottered unsteadily out the door.

"What now?" Marie asked me.

I shrugged. "We find the kid and get him back."

"How do we find him? We don't have any leads."

I sighed and stretched. It had been a tough day so far and it wasn't done yet.

"Actually, we do have one lead - Maria Hill. She pulled a gun on the German who grabbed the kid. I think she got hired by the Germans because she was a local who knew the city. Then she found out she was involved in something she didn't like."

"And then she turned into a horrible, burning, skeleton-monster and chased us out of the hotel," Marie pointed out.

"There's that," I conceded.

"How do we find Hill?" Marie asked.

"Let's start with the basics. She's in the phone book."

* * *

Actually, nobody was more surprised than me when a tired sounding Maria Hill picked up her office phone.

"Hill here," she said.

I took a deep breath and said, "Hill... this is Domino."

There was a moment of silence, then Hill said, "Dom, what the hell is going on?"

I managed not to laugh, "Actually, I was kind of hoping you could explain it to me. Who are those German guys?"

She did laugh, but it sounded bitter. "They're not who they told me they were, that's for sure. They said they were German private cops, looking for a woman who'd been a maid for a banker. She was supposedly with him while he was on a long business trip here in the states. They told me she'd stolen some jewelry from him - family heirloom stuff. The banker wanted the jewelry back, but couldn't take it to the cops because he's married and was sticking it to the maid."

"Not a bad story. It covers all the bases," I said appreciatively. "Why'd they want you?"

"They needed a local who knew the streets and the people. Look, Dom, business has been tight lately and maybe I didn't ask enough questions, but when I heard those shots and then saw that guy grab the kid... I didn't hire on for that. The job wasn't supposed to be about hurting anyone."

"I know. I saw you pull a gun on the German and tell him to let go of the boy. I had a drop on him, too. But then you changed into... something."

Hill didn't say anything. I gave her some time to respond. The seconds stretched on.

"Hill?" I prompted.

"I don't know what happened to me, Dom," she said distantly. "I changed, but I was sort of still me. I can remember everything, but a lot of it doesn't make sense. I seemed to see... the bad things that people had done. It was like a black shroud around them. And it was my job to send that kind of person on to be punished."

My skin crawled. I didn't like the sound of, '...on to be punished.'

"But I couldn't do what I supposed to do," Hill continued, her voice still shockingly sane. "I should have gone after the German. He's a seriously bad guy. He likes to hurt people - women especially. There was a girl he killed in his home town when he was a kid. And another one when he was in the army. And one more after the war. It's what he does when they figure him out - when they become witnesses. And then he killed the house dick in that hotel when he tried to stop the kidnapping - I could see that, too. But something stopped me from dealing with him. And instead I went after you."

Hill stopped talking. And I could hear was gasping, tearing sound from the other end of the phone line. She was crying.

"Where's the boy?" I asked after giving her some time to get ahold of herself.

"They have rooms at a dockside hotel," Hill said brokenly. "It's called the Gold Rush. Maybe they have him there."

I shook my head, even though it was impossible for Hill to see it, "No way they're still there."

"Maybe they are. They don't know I know where they're staying. I followed them after our first meeting."

God bless the paranoia and curiosity of the typical private eye.

* * *

Marie was normally careful about the way she dressed. I think it has something to do with being raised dirt poor. But she made a face when I told her where we were going and changed into an outfit that made her look like the kind of girl you would expect to see on the docks.

"This is a new look for you," I observed.

"I'm just a poor working girl," she said, gazing in a mirror as she applied way too much bright red lipstick. "Down on my luck and forced to perform the vilest sexual acts in order to get by. In fact, I've fallen so low that I'm allowing myself to be used by an older *gasp* woman!"

"'Older woman?'," I quoted. Maybe my voice squeaked a bit in outrage.

Marie put down her lipstick and posed dramatically - eyes closed in anguish and her hand on her brow. "An older woman who will demand that I do things that defy the laws of God and nature! Naked and on my knees I will give the older temptress perverse oral pleasures as I tremble in utter humiliation, sure in the knowledge that the gates of Hell now yawn wide for me!"

"You're three months older than me!" I interrupted indignantly.

By now, Marie's Southern accent was in full bloom. "The last tattered shreds of my innocence stripped from me, I sob in utter degradation. Meanwhile, my cruel seducer contemptously casts a few coins on the floor! Meager payment for the perverse pleasures that were afforded her!"

"Hey, I didn't seduce you! You seduced me! Uh... wait a minute.. are you asking for a raise?"

Marie smiled as she put the cap on her lipstick. "My pay is just fine, thank you. And you're damn right I seduced you. You were such a frightened lamb the first time. Trembling like a virgin. It was adorable."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't really think of a response.

* * *

The Gold Rush Hotel wasn't exactly in any of the guide books. It was a three story brick building that was visibly falling apart. It was the kind of place that had two kinds of customers: sailors and their very temporary friends, and people who either didn't care or didn't have a choice about where they slept.

But now the hotel could add kidnappers its list of clientele.

Marie and I were in a run-down diner across the street from the hotel. Neither one of us were crazy enough to actually eat the food, but the coffee was passable. A few seconds ago, we'd seen one of the Germans exit the hotel long enough to buy a newspaper.

"You'd think the boy would raise a ruckus," Marie said thoughtfully.

"It's not the kind of place where anyone cares much about a screaming kid," I pointed out. "And besides, all they have to do is tell the boy to play ball or they'll kill his mom. That'll keep him quiet."

"So what's the plan?" Marie asked.

"Call the cops."

Marie raised an eyebrow. In between the corruption and the incompetence, the cops in this town are notably useless. Normally, we try to avoid them.

"If we try to spring the kid, they Germans will have every reason to fight," I explained. "After all, there's just the two of us. And the kid might get caught in the crossfire. But if the cops show up... well, that's a different ball of wax. There's a lot more incentive to be reasonable."

Marie thought about it and then nodded, "It's better than anything I can come up with."

"Right," I said agreeably. "So I'll..."

"Oh, crap," whispered Marie, her eyes suddenly gone wide.

I followed her gaze. Out in front of the Gold Rush Hotel, Maria Hill had just parked her motorcycle. As we watched, she calmly pulled a sawed-off shotgun out of her saddlebag, chambered a shell, and began walking into the hotel. She looked seriously pissed off.

"New plan," I said as I jumped to my feet.

"What?" Marie asked as she checked her purse to make sure her handgun was accessible.

"We make it up as we go along and try not to get killed."

"Sounds about right," Marie said as she followed me out the door.

* * *

We were almost to the door of the Gold Rush Hotel when we heard the shattering boom of the shotgun. After a brief pause, a couple of pistol shots responded. Rushing inside, we raced past a bunch of people who were either seeking cover or runing for the exits. The kind of people who work or stay in a place like the Gold Rush have fairly well developed survival instincts.

More shots came from upstairs. Marie and I advanced up the stairs in short rushes, one of us covering the other as they moved.

On the second floor, we found the fire-fight.

On the floor of the hallway, one of the Germans was missing a big chunk of his chest. Blood and fragments of flesh were splattered on the walls and floor. Further down the hall, another German was down and a shockingly huge pool of blood was pouring from his body. Hill was using a doorway for cover as she traded shots with someone else further down the hall. As I watched, she ran out of ammo. Dropping her shotgun, she leaned back and began pulling out a small automatic pistol.

Hill's eyes met mine. There was a nasty gash just above her right eye that was turning her face into a mask of blood. I could see a bullet wound oozing blood from her stomach - and that was bad place to get shot. She'd also been hit in one of her legs, and her left arm had been creased. I suppose Hill had decided that living would be nice, but it wasn't exactly a priority. That explained the suicidally direct assault.

The guy who'd been shooting at Hill realized that her shotgun was out of shells and that she was in middle of trading weapons. That made him brave enough to risk coming further out in the open in an effort to get a clearer shot at her. Apparently he was concentrating so hard on her that he hadn't notice me. I sighted my .45 and double-tapped a pair of slugs into him. He staggered back into the room he'd been shooting from.

I advanced down the hallway slowly, keeping my weapon pointed at the door the wounded German had vanished into. There was a pretty good chance he was out of the fight, but I didn't want to take the chance. And besides, there might be more than three of the guys. Behind me, I could sense Marie covering me. Hill came out of her doorway and began painfully staggering down the hall, leaning against the wall for support. She left a long smear of blood on the wall behind her. I made a mental note to never piss her off.

The possibility that Hill might at any second turn into the burning skeleton monster was something I was definitely thinking about.

I beat Hill to the door - not surprising when you consider how badly shot up she was. I listened for a second and didn't hear anything. Then I took a deep breath and made a diving roll into the room. That's something I really wouldn't recommend anyone else try, but it works for me. I'm lucky that way.

I ended up against a wall, crouched low and with my weapon pointed in front of me. Hill took a position at the doorway, using it for cover while aiming her gun into the room.

We weren't ready for what we saw.

The furniture had all been shoved to the sides of the room and the carpet had been torn up, revealing the wooden floor. Some sort of red symbol had been drawn on the floor. In the center of the symbol was little Steve Rogers, bound hand and foot. He was thrashing against the ropes, but didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

The guy I'd shot had collapsed half onto the symbol painted on the floor. I was pretty sure he was dead. His out-stretched arm was almost touching Steve.

An older man, wearing nothing but his pants, was standing near the back of the room, holding an ancient-looking, iron-bound, book open in his hands. Strange linear symbols were drawn all over his chest, arms, and face in what looked like black ink. His eyes were startlingly blue. They almost seemed to glow.

Looking more irritated than anything else, the old man said a word. And Maria Hill changed once again into a horror made of burning bones.

I put a shot into the old man, hoping that would break the... well... 'spell' or whatever it was that he'd done to Hill. I could have sworn that the bullet hit the old man in the chest, but he didn't react. And then I felt the kind of heat you get when someone opens a furnace door and Hill was on me.

Her first blow knocked the gun out of my hand and damn near broke my wrist. I screamed and tried to draw my backup weapon with my other hand, but by then the thing that used to be Maria Hill had me by the neck and arm. I locked eyes with her... it... and in them I could only see an eternity of flame.

Marie charged into the room, blazing away with her six-gun at the old man with the book. I think she was yelling my name. I tried to scream at Marie to run, this wasn't a thing we could fight, but the grip on my throat was too strong and it was getting worse. It was only a matter of a few seconds until my larynx collapsed.

Then Marie slapped Hill on the back of her flaming head. Through a gray haze as I teetered on the edge of conciousness, I could have sworn that I smelled burning flesh.

What happened next is difficult to describe.

Marie absorbs powers, but she absorbs the powers of folks like me and her and Kitty. The kind of people that some of the scientist types call 'mutants'. But whatever the hell Maria Hill had become, I was pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with science. However, Marie's power did manage to do something.

Hill returned to normal - bullet wounds and all. Her grip relaxed and she collapsed against me. I grabbed her more by reflex than anything else. Meanwhile, Marie was surrounded by a reddish light and her eyes had become yellow slits. And she was screaming in sheer horror.

The old man in the back of the room cursed in German and gestured with his hands. Some unseen force slammed me, Marie, and Hill against the wall so hard that the plaster crunched and I could hear the studs in the wall crack. But the pressure didn't let up on us. It kept increasing and I realized that if it kept up we'd all be crushed like bugs.

Believe it or not, that's when Steve Rogers saved us.

He'd somehow worked his way loose from the ropes holding him. Then he reached over and grabbed one of those huge glass ashtrays. The kind you normally only see in bars. It was sitting on a low table that had been shoved, like the other furniture in the room, against the walls.

In one smooth motion, pivoting with the grace of a pro-baseball player, Steve pitched the ashtray like a discus. It slammed into the old man's temple. Whatever the old man had going for him that shrugged off gunfire didn't seem to work. His eyes lost their focus and he staggered backwards.

The pressure on us vanished and we collapsed to the floor.

Okay... no guns. With my uninjured hand, I pulled out the switchblade I'd taken earlier from Kitty. It flicked open as I scrambled painfully towards the old guy.

He was still dazed from Steve's contribution to the fight. I elbow-punched him in face and then kicked his legs out from under him. He tumbled to the floor and I landed on top of him.

He seemed shocked when three inches of steel suddenly appeared in his heart.

* * *

As we staggered to the car - I had Hill over my shoulder and Marie was leading Steve - I heard myself ask the kid, "Hey, how'd you get loose from those ropes?"

"Remember that guy who got shot and fell down right next to me?" Steve replied immediately. "I broke his wristwatch. Then I used the glass to cut my ropes."

Huh. Sharp kid.

"Who are you?" Steve asked us.

"A pair of hard-working and now badly beat-up private eyes," I answered tiredly. "We were hired to take care of you."

"Private eyes?" he said excitedly. "You mean, like in the movies? But that can't be right - you're girls!"

Still blinking back tears of pain from her burned hand, Marie smiled distractedly at Steve and ruffled his hair with her uninjured hand.

"Girls can do anything boys can do," I said stoically.

"Bet you can't pee standing up," Steve replied instantly.

Little wise-ass, I grumped to myself. But we had finally got to the car and I was too distracted to reply.

* * *

We barely got Hill to the hospital in time. Sometimes, I stay awake at night, stare at the ceiling and wonder if some higher - or lower - power intervened for Maria Hill. She really should have bled out and died before we got her to the hospital.

I had a badly sprained wrist, some cracked ribs, and a lot of miscellaneous bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Marie had a burned hand, but thankfully it wasn't too severe. She also had a list of minor injuries that more-or-less matched mine. Steve had a black eye and few bruises, but otherwise he'd managed to get through his ordeal pretty much intact.

Somehow or other, the hospital didn't get around to calling the cops - which would have meant a lot of awkward questions and would certainly have resulted in Steve being taken away from us.

"Did you call Logan?" I asked Marie as we painfully left the hospital with Steve in tow. Hill was staying, of course.

She smiled awkwardly at me, "Damn right."

"I don't like getting him involved in our cases," I growled.

"He's useful, Dom." Something about the way Marie was talking bothered me. It was like she was responding distantly and automatically, without precisely thinking about what she was saying.

"I don't want to owe him favors."

Marie smiled momentarily in a way that was oddly halfway between impish and subdued. It moved the bruises on her face around in interesting ways. "So we'll pay him back with a threesome. Problem solved."

"What's a threesome?" Steve asked innocently.

Oops. We'd forgotten the old saying about little pitchers and big ears.

"Forget I said that," Marie told Steve firmly - seeming to come back to herself for just a moment.

Everything Marie was saying and doing seemed forced. Something was bothering her, and it wasn't hard to figure out what it was. When she tried to absorb the powers of the transformed Maria Hill, she'd gotten a good look inside the mind of the creature that Maria had become. That had been bad, but she was trying to pretend that everything was okay. I was getting worried.

* * *

The Tinman and Mrs. Rogers showed up at our office almost simultaneously.

Mrs. Rogers was almost hysterical. As soon as she saw Steve, she grabbed him and squeezed so hard that I thought we might have to rescue him again. Once she was done with Steve, Mrs. Rogers hugged me... carefully, thank goodness. And then Marie. And then Sooraya. The Tinman seemed amused at our flustered reactions to her gratitude. We weren't used to gratitude. Most of our customers paid sullenly and then stalked out the door.

I told the Tinman our story. Maybe I expected him to tell us we were crazy, but instead he just listened to what I had to say with a mildly interested expression on what was left of his face. Mrs. Rogers' eyes got wider and wider as I worked my way through our tale.

Then, like a sorcerer out of some fairy tale, the Tinman handed Mrs. Rogers a bag of gold. It was filled with more double eagles. I was thinking that they might have to start calling him the Goldman.

"Hide. There may be more men who want to hurt Steven," he told Mrs. Rogers. His voice was dead serious.

Mrs. Rogers gave me an uncertain look. "Do as he says," I urged. "Get out of town right now - don't bother stopping for your stuff. Change your name. Settle down somewhere quiet and out of the way. Wait for the storm to pass."

She nodded hesitantly and thanked us again. Then Mrs. Rogers grabbed Steve and left.

I haven't seen her since. I hope she and Steve are okay.

The Tinman looked at me and said, "The storm hasn't begun."

It took me a second to realize he was talking about the last thing I'd said to Mrs. Rogers.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, trying to keep the worst of the exasperation I was feeling out of my voice. "Who were the guys who kidnapped Steve? Why did they kidnap Steve? What happened to Maria Hill? And just what kind of storm are you talking about?"

Sooraya handed the Tinman a cup of tea and then pushed a chair next to him. She was being very deferrential to him. He accepted both with thanks and sat down.

"The man who had Steven kidnapped was a sorcerer," he said conversationally. "He was a member of a German mystical order that has dangerously extreme political leanings. As I understand it, he used divination magics to catch a glimpse of the future and learned that fate has great things in store for Steven Rogers - things that might frustrate the plans of men like him. He was attempting to alter fate by using Steven's life as a source of power. Suffice to say that it is a good thing you stopped him."

I nodded warily.

"Miss Hill is a victim," the Tinman continued. "She was temporarily possessed by a demon of vengeance that the sorcerer was using for his own purposes. That was a powerful and dangerous summoning - most unwise, actually. Zarathos is not an entity that can be safely toyed with."

Then, as calmly as if we were discussing the latest baseball box-scores, the Tinman put his straw into his teacup and took a sip. Marie and I exchanged a long look. Sooraya, acting as if the Tinman had said nothing particularly unusual, calmly inserted some paper into her typewriter and began tapping on the keys. Things are different where she comes from.

"There's a war coming," Marie said suddenly. "That's the storm you're talking about, isn't it?"

A worn expression appeared on what was left of the Tinman's face. "Yes," he said. "A terrible war. Worse than the last one, I fear."

I think my stomach turned over. Worse than the Great War? Dear, God...

Balancing his teacup on his knee, the Tinman put four more double eagles on my desk. "The remainder of your fee," he said.

I chuckled painfully, "I hope it covers our medical bills."

He shrugged, "I think you will be feeling much better tomorrow."

I managed not to laugh.

"That symbol that was painted on the floor of the hotel room," he said. "What did it look like?"

I shook my head, "Not a swastika, if that's what you're thinking."

"It looked like a snake with a lot of heads," said Marie.

Really? I hadn't got a good look at the symbol. All I saw were a bunch of wavy lines...

The Tinman nodded. And there was something in the way he did that that seemed to suggest that the Marie had given him an answer he expected.

"What's your name?" I asked, refusing to let the conversation end. I'm a PI. Curiousity is our curse.

He smiled. Sort of. Whatever was underneath his mask twisted his lower face strangely.

"I understand that people call me the Tinman."

"I mean your real name."

"You wouldn't know it."

"Try me."

"Please," Marie added gently.

The Tinman put his half-finished cup of tea on my desk, right next to the short stack of gold coins. He carefully tapped his wooden straw against the rim of the cup to clear it of fluid and then pocketed it. Then he stood up and limped to the office door. Sooraya stood up and opened the door for him.

Just before he left, he paused, looked back at us, and said, "I am Dr. Stephen Strange. Captain, U. S. Army Medical Corps. However, I am no longer on active duty."

He was right. The name meant nothing to me.

"Have a good day, Doctor Strange," Sooraya said politely as she held the door for him.

* * *

That night, just before we went to bed, I hesitantly asked Marie what she saw when she touched the demon.

"Loneliness," Marie said as she checked the bandages on her hand. That made her wince.

I frowned in surprise. "That was all?"

She looked at me. "Oh, there were other things. Things like hate, obsession, callousness, and anger. Lots of anger. But the only thing that really mattered was the loneliness."

Marie's eyes were haggard and frightened. I was pretty sure she wasn't telling me everything. But I decided not to push.

* * *

Despite bone-deep weariness, it took a long time for us to fall asleep. We lay together in bed until early in the morning, holding one another and not saying anything. Sometimes, Marie trembled and cried softly. When we finally did drift off, it should have been a terrible and restless sleep, filled with pain and nightmares.

Sunrise woke me. I felt rested and fine.

Wait a minute...

I lifted up my right hand and flexed it. It was okay - not even a bruise. In fact, there wasn't a scratch on me. And Marie, lying next to me, still asleep and breathing softly, also looked okay.

Trying not to wake Marie, I pulled down the covers and carefully unwrapped the bandages to examine her burned hand. It was fine.

I kissed Marie on the forehead. She opened her eyes and smiled at me. Then a surprised expression appeared on her face.

"We apparently have a pretty good doctor." I said.

"Looks like. Do you suppose Hill is better?"

"I'd say that's a good bet," I said as I examined Marie's face. Her eyes were clear and I didn't see any fear in them. She seemed to be back to normal.

A thought occurred to me.

"What do you remember about what you saw in that demon's head?" I asked carefully.

She considered that for a moment, then frowned. "Huh. Actually, I don't remember much about it at all. It all seems... hazy."

Yeah, we had a pretty good doctor, all right.

All Marie was wearing was some pajama tops. I was wearing the bottoms. She says that whenever we're in bed together, she likes to be able to touch and kiss my boobs whenever the urge strikes her. I try to accomodate.

As I pulled off her pajama top, I said, "Let's not get out of bed today."

"Sounds good," she said. Then she kissed me.


	4. The Case of the Green Giants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Bruce Banner is missing. And his beautiful lab assistant -- Elizabeth Ross -- hires 'Domino Investigations' to find him.

THE CASE OF THE GREEN GIANTS

"It's my boss - he's vanished," our new client said tensely. She was obviously worried. And maybe frightened.

Her name was Elizabeth Ross. She was a pretty girl in her late twenties, with a slender figure, long brown hair, and piercing green eyes. She was dressed modestly in a dress that showed only a little bit of calf, and her shoes were very sensible. It was the kind of outfit a girl with a job would wear to the office.

"Who's your boss? And when did he disappear?" I asked.

Marie - my partner - had a legal pad in her hands and was taking notes. Once upon a time, she used to be my secretary. Then she became my lover as well as my secretary. Then one day she told me in no uncertain terms that she was tired of biting her nails as she waited to see if I was going to make it back to the office alive. So now she pounds the pavement with me.

"Dr. Bruce Banner. He's a scientist. I haven't seen him for a week."

The name didn't ring any bells. I glanced at Marie, she gave me a very slight shake of her head.

"When did you see him last?"

There was a momentary pause before Mr. Ross answered my question, "Last Wednesday - at his private laboratory. He has a facility up in the town of Grenwald. I'm his lab assistant and secretary."

Something about that moment of hesitation made me think that our client wasn't telling us everything. Oh, well, it's not a real case if your client isn't lying to you about something.

"Does Dr. Banner have a reason to disappear? Like financial or legal problems?"

"No," Miss Ross said.

"Do you know of anyone who might have a problem with Dr. Banner?" I asked.

Miss Ross nodded immediately, "There's a man named Samuel Sterns. He and Bruce have been exchanging letters and phone calls about Bruce's research for quite a while. A few weeks ago, they had a nasty argument over the phone. Bruce hung up on Mr. Sterns and told me that from then on if he called I was to always tell Mr. Sterns that Bruce wasn't in the office. I was also supposed to throw away any letters Mr. Sterns might send."

"What did they argue about?" I asked.

Miss Ross shook her head in exasperation, "I don't know. Bruce wouldn't tell me."

"Miss Ross, have you tried the police?" Marie asked.

"I did! The day right Bruce vanished! But yesterday I talked to the detective who was supposed to be investigating the case - a man named Cody - and he acted like he'd never heard of it! That's when I decided to come to you."

* * *

Miss Ross was gone, her retainer fee was in the office safe, and we were on the case.

I'd made the obvious checks. Banner wasn't at home or his office. There were no John Doe's matching Banner's description in any of the local hospitals or in the morgue.

A photo of Dr. Banner and Miss Ross was sitting on my desk. It looked a bit stilted and posed - according to Miss Ross it had been taken at a formal function at the University - but it did show us what Dr. Banner looked like. He was a scrawny guy, about the same height as Miss Ross, with mildly bland features. However, the obvious glint of intelligence in his eyes and the wry smile on his face did a lot to improve his looks.

"Dr. Bruce David Banner, Ph.D." Marie said as she put down the phone. She had been talking to some of our sources at the local news-rags. "He's a physicist with degrees from Princeton and M.I.T. He teaches at State University, but at the moment he's taking a break from classes so he can work on his research. His recent papers have been about radiation and are considered pretty important. In addition to his office and laboratory at the University, he has a private lab out-of-town. He's been spending a lot of time there."

"That checks with what Miss Ross told us," I grunted.

Sooraya - our secretary - was carrying her baby boy in one arm and a file folder in the other. The boy was getting fussy. Sooraya sat down, unbuttoned her blouse, and began feeding him as she used one hand to awkwardly sort out the file contents on her desk.

"Dr. Banner does have a property up near the town of Grenwald," she began. "According to county records, it has a farmhouse, a barn, and various out-buildings. He also has phone and electrical services - which is expensive that far from the city - and his bills are paid up. He has a post-office box in Grenwald. It's paid a year in advance."

"Does Banner have money of his own? Something besides what the University pays him?" I wondered.

Sooraya pursed her lips thoughtfully, "Perhaps. I stopped at the library and checked the 'Who's Who of Science' and some newspaper files. Dr. Banner's father was a prominent businessman from Philadelphia. His father and mother are both dead and he has no brothers or sisters. So it's possible that he came into a considerable inheritance."

"Does he have any living family?"

"Two aunts, an uncle, and a few cousins. The only relative who lives in town is a cousin named Jennifer Walters. She's a legal secretary and about the same age as Dr. Banner. She said the last time she saw Dr. Banner was two weeks ago when they went out to lunch together. He didn't say anything to her about leaving town or being in any kind of trouble."

I nodded appreciatively, Sooraya was turning into a sharp investigator.

"What about Miss Ross?" I asked.

Marie fielded that one, "She actually comes from a pretty important family. Her father is General Thaddeus Ross..."

That made me raise an eyebrow. "Thunderbolt Ross?"

Marie blinked in surprise, "Yes. You know him?"

"Not personally. He commanded a regiment during the Great War and his name popped up in the newspapers. He had a reputation as a hard-charger."

Marie nodded, "Well, he's currently the commanding officer of the 1st Infantry Division at Fort Riley. His wife passed away just after the war. Miss Ross was their only child. She has a degree in nursing from Brown. It's no secret that she and Banner are more than just a boss and his assistant - they've been keeping each other company for six months or so. The story is that they got friendly after there was some sort of accident in Banner's on-campus lab. He apparently pulled her out of the building just in time."

I nodded thoughtfully. It was no particular surprise to me that Banner and Ross were a couple. The thought first crossed my mind when I noticed how Ross kept referring to her boss by his first name. And while most people are willing to call the cops if their boss vanishes, they usually weren't inclined to bring in a private eye who they'd have to pay out of their own pocket.

"What about Sterns?" Marie asked. "Our reporter friends have never heard of the guy."

"There is no Samuel Sterns in the sources I checked at the library," Sooraya said as she burped her baby. "If he is a scientist, he is unknown and unpublished."

"According to the city directory, there are three Samuel Sterns who live in town," I added. "I checked on them. One is an eighty year old retired fisherman, another is an out-of-work janitor, and the third is a transvestite hooker who prefers to be called 'Samantha'. None of them sound like guys who have intelligent conversations about physics with a renowned scientist."

"What's next?" Marie asked me.

I looked down at my notes, "You and I go talk to Detective Cody. Sooraya, start calling Dr. Banner's neighbors and his colleagues at State University and see if you can shake anything else loose."

* * *

The County Sheriff's office is actually pretty big. After all, the county it serves includes not just the tiny mountain community of Grenwald, but also the city.

Detective Cody gave Marie and I an unhappy look, "So Ross hired you?"

"Our client is worried about Dr. Banner," I said as neutrally as possible.

Cody leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Weirdest thing. The other day she comes in here and asks me how the Banner investigation is going. Which was kinda surprising since I've never heard of a Banner investigation. I thought for a second someone else must have the case, so I checked with our desk sergeant and the other detectives. It turns out nobody had ever heard of Miss Ross or Dr. Banner. When I told Miss Ross that she had to file a report before we could investigate, she got mad. Swore up and down that she'd already done that."

Then Cody shook his head sadly, "I think that poor girl is a little touched."

"So have you started looking for Dr. Banner?" I asked.

Cody shrugged, "We still don't have a missing person's report on him. Miss Ross stormed out of here without filing one. There's nothing we can do officially until she does that."

"Nothing you can do officially..." Marie repeated, emphasizing the word 'officially'.

Cody looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, well, Miss Ross was obviously really upset, so I made a few phone calls anyway. The deputy whose patrol area includes Grenwald says he knows of this Banner guy, but hasn't seen him around lately. But he said that doesn't mean anything since Banner keeps to himself. He was going to check around, but I haven't heard back from him yet."

Trying to be as unchallenging as possible I asked, "Look, Cody, just between us, are you positive this isn't some kind of screw-up? You're sure Miss Ross didn't file a Missing Person on Banner and it somehow just got misplaced?"

Cody shook his head, "Miss Ross claimed to have met me previously and we supposedly talked about the case. And that just didn't happen. I don't know what's going through Miss Ross' head, but something's definitely wrong. If you care about your client, you'll advise her to see a doctor."

As we left the building, Marie looked at me and said, "You know, Detective Cody strikes me as a good cop. And I don't think he was lying to us."

"That's my impression, too," I admitted.

"So... is our client nuts?"

I frowned, "Maybe. But before we assume that, maybe we should call in a specialist."

"Who?" Marie asked.

I took a deep breath and said, "You aren't going to like it."

Marie gave me a puzzled look. Then she realized who I was talking about and said, "Oh, hell."

* * *

"He's been tampered with," Emma said confidently.

Emma Frost is an honest-to-God piece of work. The Frost family is incredibly rich and powerful and she makes no bones about enjoying all of the advantages that come with that. She's also one of the most powerful psychics I've ever encountered. Oh, and she's ridiculously beautiful, has the morals of an alley cat, and loves to shock people.

We were sitting in my car, watching Detective Cody as he walked out the Sheriff's building and got into his car. It was quitting time.

After talking to Cody, we picked up Emma and returned to the Sheriff's department so she could apply her special skills to figuring out what was going on with the contradictory stories about Banner's Missing Person report. Emma owed me a few favors.

Marie was sitting silently in the back seat. She and Emma weren't exactly enemies, but they definitely weren't friends. Emma finds that amusing, but I hope she never finds out just how dangerous Marie can be. Emma tends towards overconfidence. In my experience, that's a common characteristic of psychics.

"What kind of tampering?" I asked.

"Telepathic memory alteration. Powerful, precise, and very subtle. If you hadn't asked me to check this man, I would have never noticed it. Off hand, I can only think of three people who could do something like this."

"Let me guess," I said. "You, Jean, and Charles Xavier?"

"Good guess," Emma replied with a bright smile. As a reward she put an image into my head that featured the two of us. I wasn't wearing any clothes - unless you count a diamond-studded dog collar, a pair of tiny gold nipple rings, and a light scattering of whip marks - and I was doing something intimate to her with my mouth. Emma likes that sort of thing.

*You like it, too,* she told me telepathically. *I'm just more willing to admit it.*

"What about Betsy Braddock?" I ventured, trying to keep my voice straight and level as I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Braddock was one of Logan's people.

Emma shook her head, "Braddock is talented, but she still has a lot of rough edges. I'd be able to read her mental signature instantly if she was the one who had influenced Cody."

Then Emma was quiet for moment before adding, "We seem to have a new player in town in terms of psychic powers. Or perhaps an old player that we haven't known about until now."

I said nothing as I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel.

"So why didn't this psychic just fiddle with Miss Ross' mind?" Marie asked from the back seat.

"There wasn't any point," Emma replied immediately. "Your client is Dr. Banner's employee and lover. So she would be constantly reminded that he was missing whenever she went to work, or looked at his picture, or realized that nobody else was in bed with her at night. That would cause any memory alteration to break down very quickly."

"But getting to Cody didn't solve the problem," Marie pointed out. "Eventually, Miss Ross checked to see how the case was going and realized that something was wrong."

"There are practical limits in terms of how many people you can mentally manipulate," Emma replied. "Our rogue psychic was probably just playing for time. And I suspect he didn't get as much time as he hoped."

Emma paused thoughtfully before continuing. "However, there are some interesting implications. The psychic didn't realize how worried Ross would be. That suggests that he isn't very good at reading human emotions. That's an odd weakness for a psychic."

"This is a problem," I said with a worried sigh. Which was a huge understatement. An unknown psychic was involved in our case and had already tried to erase the official investigation into Banner's disappearance. Marie and I simply didn't have what it took to deal with a hostile and powerful psychic.

Emma looked at me. Bless her strangely off-kilter soul, but there was actual human concern in her eyes. "Dom, I suggest you drop this case."

In the back seat, Marie didn't say anything, but I could tell she was also worried.

So was I.

"I've got an idea," Marie said suddenly.

* * *

Instead of heading home, we drove to a small, older hotel that wasn't too far from the docks. The hotel wasn't much to look at, but it was one of the most dangerous places in the world. It was the headquarters of the biggest gang in town. A gang that was filled with people who had strange powers of the body and mind.

Two youngsters - a tough Kentucky kid named Sam Guthrie and his Indian girlfriend Danni Moonstar - were watching the lobby. They both stirred when we entered. They got to their feet, ready for anything, when we approached them. I made a point of keeping my hands where they could be seen.

Emma was waiting out in the car, which was just as well. Her dealings with Logan's gang had all been negative - for her. I don't think she's ever completely recovered from that. Emma's used to running the show and being treated like a queen. When Logan had her, Sam and Danni were her guards, but Kitty Pryde had been the person in charge. A day in the clutches of Kitty Pryde had shown Emma a whole new and scary world. Kitty's a psycho.

Marie took over. She has a lot of pull in Logan's gang. She used to be a member, and a fairly important one.

"We need to talk to Hank," she said firmly.

Sam and Danni exchanged looks. Then Sam walked over to the check-in desk and picked up the house phone.

* * *

Hank is a huge bear of a man who's Logan's second-in-command. Logan sets policy, but Hank is the guy who carries it out. Hank is also a lot smarter than he looks. In fact, he's one of the smartest guys I've ever met.

Over the years, I've seen a lot of guys make some quite lethal errors in judgement about Logan's gang. Perhaps the worst is to assume that Logan and Hank really aren't that smart - that they just used their powers to muscle their way to the top. You could fill a graveyard with the bodies of people who've made that mistake. Another bad idea was to assume that Hank is the real power behind the throne - and that maybe he could be turned against Logan.

Rule number one of surviving in this town: don't cross Logan. Rule number two: don't cross Hank.

Despite that, I couldn't help but smile when Hank bounded down the main staircase wearing a bathrobe, a pair of over-sized slippers, and pair of rectangular reading glasses. He had a big grin on his face and when he got to where we stood, he planted a big kiss on Marie. She grinned and gave him a careful hug.

"Marie! Dom! It's so good to see you!"

* * *

We ended up in the hotel bar. Except for us, it was empty. Nobody really stays in the hotel except for Logan and some of his people. Hank poured us three shots of expensive whiskey as he and Marie chatted about people they both knew and how things were going nowadays. From what Hank told Marie, times were good in Logan's mob. The cops were useless, the mayor and city council were in Logan's pocket, Prohibition had opened up vast vistas of profit, and Logan's only real competitor - Erik Lehnsherr - was currently minding his own business.

Good times, I suppose. I drank Hank's whiskey and kept any contrary opinions I might have to myself. Logan was far from being the worst gang-lord to ever run a town. And it's not like he was holding people at gun-point and forcing them to drink his booze, gamble at his tables, or screw his whores. And he did have his own set of scruples. The booze had to not blind or kill his customers. The gambling tables had to be reasonably honest. The girls had to be clean and well-treated. No drugs. No child prostitution. No murder for hire. If you asked Logan, that was all about good business and good public relations, but I can't help but think that at least some of it was because Logan is actually pretty reasonable about some things.

But...

But this was still Logan's town and it was run Logan's way. So if Logan told somebody what to do, they shut up and did it. Then they thanked Logan for the opportunity to be of service and prayed that he was satisfied. The people who were able to say "No" to Logan were few and far between.

And here's the scary part. With any extraordinarily powerful crime lord - like Capone in Chicago - you could always hope that someday he'll be gone, his empire will collapse, and the city he used to rule could get back to some semblance of normality. After all, eventually the odds should catch up with any gang boss, right? He'd finally get jugged, or killed by a rival or an ambitious underling, or just get old and loose his grip.

But Logan is incredibly hard to kill, doesn't seem to get old, and has never shown any sign of getting soft. So how long would Logan rule this town? What if a twenty years from now - or fifty years, or even a hundred - all of the big players in this town were different except for the most important one?

"I'd like to think you came all this way just to see me," Hank finally said. "But that's hard to believe. What's going on?"

"I was hoping to borrow something from you," Marie said.

Hank shrugged, "What?"

"Whatever it is that makes your people immune to psychics."

Hank frowned at Marie. Then he smiled - the man has huge teeth - and said, "What makes you think we have something like that?"

"I've heard stories," Marie said confidently. "After that mess with the Egyptian, you guys decided that you couldn't always depend on having a psychic available to cover you. So you came up with something that would help."

Hank stared at Marie for a moment - as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then he polished off his drink and said, "I really need to tell people to stop blabbing about everything to you. Yeah, we have something, but it's not foolproof. It gives you a defense, but it doesn't make you immune. Given enough time, a powerful psychic can break through."

"But it's better than nothing," I said.

"Far better, actually. You just have to make sure that you fill the psychic with lead before he can get to you."

"We need it, Hank," Marie said calmly.

Hank thought for a second. Then he laughed. "Here's how it will go if I say 'no'. You two will go to Logan, bat your pretty eyes, shake your pretty tailfeathers, maybe whisper a few sweet nothings into his ear, and then he'll tell me to help you. He's like that about old girlfriends. So I might as well save myself some time and aggravation and just give you what you want."

I didn't particularly want to insult Hank by arguing with him - especially since he was probably right. So I kept my mouth shut. So did Marie.

Hank poured us all another round of drinks and yelled, "DANNI!"

Danni appeared in the door.

"Go get a couple of Forge's cuffs," Hank said. Danni nodded and disappeared.

"How's Logan doing?" Marie asked softly.

I tried to ignore how irritated those three words made me. Logan relationship with me and Marie was a tangled mess of love, anger, affection, and hurt. And some really, really intense sex.

"He's fine, Rogue," Hank replied, using the name Marie used back in the day when she was a part of Logan's gang. "You know how he is. He'll outlive us all."

Logan had once told me how he was shot in the chest while helping stop Pickett's Charge, so that seemed at least possible. That conversation happened years ago; we had been in bed together, enjoying a breather and trading stories about tight spots and desperate fights.

Yeah, I was mad at Marie for asking about Logan, but then I went straight to remembering the last time he and I screwed. Which wasn't very fair of me. I swear, that man will drive you crazy.

Danni reappeared with a small wooden case. Hank put it on the table between us and opened it. Two metal circlets, apparently made of stainless steel, rested in the box. They looked like very ordinary and not particularly attractive bracelets.

"Go ahead," Hank said.

Marie and I slipped the bracelets on. They were oddly warm and seemed to tingle a bit, but otherwise nothing much happened.

"Any operating instructions?" I asked.

"Don't wear them for more than a day at a time."

"Why?"

"They eventually stop your brain from working."

Marie and I looked at one another.

"I want them back when you're done," Hank added.

* * *

"Interesting," Emma said. We were back out in my car and Emma was holding my arm and hand as she examined the bracelet-thing I was wearing. She seemed a little hesitant about actually touching it.

Then Emma looked into my eyes for a good thirty seconds. Towards the end, I felt a slow pressure building up in my head - like the first sign of nasty headache. After that, Emma frowned and let go.

"This explains a few things," she said thoughtfully.

"Does it work as advertised?" I asked.

Emma nodded her head. "Yes, but don't get too confident. Given enough time, I could get through to you. Did McCoy say where he got these things?"

I shook my head, "Not specifically. But we've known for a while that there's somebody who builds mad scientist gizmos for Logan's gang. He came up with that collar that supressed your psychic powers."

"They call him Forge," Marie added.

Emma sighed. "After my stay with Logan's people, I became curious about the power-supressing collar. I put some effort into trying to discover where they got that sort of equipment. I didn't have much luck."

"It's best to leave Logan's secrets alone," Marie said flatly. I tried to keep a straight face. Marie's advice was good, but she obviously didn't think it applied to her.

Emma didn't say anything.

* * *

We dropped Emma off at her high-rise apartment building. Then Marie and I talked over the next step.

"I think it's time to go up to Grenwald," Marie suggested.

That made sense. I used a payphone to see if Sooraya had turned up anything new. Except for some naughty gossip about Dr. Banner and our client, she hadn't. By now it was pretty obvious that Banner and Ross had the kind of relationship that society usually felt should involve a wedding ring. I didn't have either the right or the desire to judge the private lives of others, but I couldn't help but wonder if Miss Ross understood how many people knew about her affair with Dr. Banner.

After gassing up my car, we headed out of town. We didn't bother to stop back at our apartment. Marie and I kept a bag packed with spare clothes and other necessities in the trunk just for situations like that.

* * *

Grenwald was about an hour's drive west of town. It was a few miles off the highway and the part that wasn't highway was still unpaved roads. A lot of city-slickers don't realize how much of the country is still connected by dirt and gravel.

It was after sundown when we got to Grenwald, but it was obvious that there wasn't a lot to the town. It had maybe fifty houses, a general store that doubled as the post-office, a garage, and a church. Most of the houses were already dark. There wasn't a lot to do in a town like that when the sun went down. Almost all of the houses that were still showing a light were depending on oil lamps. Electric lights seemed to be far and few between.

"The local hotels all seem to be full," Marie said dryly. "Where do you want to camp out?"

Marie had a look on her face that suggested she had designs on my virtue once we settled down together in the backseat of my car. Camping makes her randy.

"Not in town," I said. "I don't want to attract too much attention. We may as well go to Banner's property. Miss Ross gave me the key. We can spend the night under a roof."

Marie nodded and reached for the map.

* * *

The turnoff to Banner's laboratory was in a thick belt of trees. It was only after we turned into it and drove about a hundred yards that I realized that the lights were on at the Banner place.

I turned off my headlights and we ground to a stop in the middle of the track that lead up to the farmhouse. For a long moment, neither Marie or I said anything as we carefully examined our surroundings. The farmhouse was a two-story wooden-frame building that needed some fresh paint. Behind it, the indistinct bulk of a barn loomed. Tall trees flanked the buildings. I assumed the farm fields were behind the barn. A distant part of me wondered what you grew this high up in the mountains. Potatoes?

"Miss Ross could be here," Marie finally suggested.

"Could be, but she said she rents a room in Grenwald. And I don't see a car anywhere," I replied.

We fell silent and watched the house for a solid minute, waiting for some sign of activity.

Nothing happened.

I took my .45 automatic from my shoulder holster and chambered a round. Marie pulled her .44 Smith and Wesson out of her purse and checked the cylinder. A while back, she decided to swap out her .38 Police Special for something with a little more stopping power. I heartily approved.

"Let's go," I said.

* * *

We ghosted our way out of the car and towards the house, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the light streaming from the windows. The porch was surprisingly dark - the house didn't have exterior lights. I crept onto it while Marie lagged behind and watched my back. Then I peeked through a window.

It looked like most of the first floor had been gutted and converted into a lab. It was filled with all sorts of exotic equipment that I didn't recognize, as well as the usual stuff like lab tables, blackboards, bookshelves, filing cabinets, and desks. A bare set of stairs led up to the second floor.

Miss Ross was naked and strapped to a some sort of medical examination table. Her eyes were closed and she wasn't moving, but she didn't look dead. Meanwhile, a nondescript-looking guy dressed in coveralls was shoving a complex-looking wheel-mounted device towards the table she was laying on.

I moved to the door as Marie replaced me at the window. She blinked in surprise at what she saw inside and then gave me an urgent look. I nodded in response.

I tested the door knob. It wasn't locked.

With a decisive click, Marie pulled back the hammer on her six-gun.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

* * *

"Hands up," I said. I was in a two-handed stance with my automatic leveled at the guy who was standing next to our client.

He was medium-tall and stocky; maybe 30 years old with brown hair and rather plain features. He was dressed in a set of coveralls, work boots, and a blue work shirt. Nothing about his appearance stood out - except for a pair of bright emerald eyes. They seemed startlingly out of place in his face.

He had a pair of thick cables in his hands. They ended with clips while the other ends were connected to the gizmo he'd just pushed next to the examination table. They looked something like jumper cables.

Miss Ross didn't react to my entrance, and that worried me. Marie moved into the room behind me, closed the front door, and then shifted well off to the side so the guy in the coveralls would have to split his attention between us. She was also aiming her gun at the guy.

The guy didn't react the way you'd expect when a pair of rather big handguns are pointed at you. Instead of looking scared, he just frowned in what looked like puzzled surprise.

"Where did you two come from?" he asked.

I made a slight gesture with my gun. "Mr. Colt here seems to think that I should be the one asking the questions. He also thinks you should drop those cables, put your hands up, and step away from the young lady."

Looking even more puzzled, he put down the cables. However, he stayed where he was and didn't put up his hands. Every now and then you run into a guy who won't play ball. At that point, you have some life-and-death decisions to make. But the bottom line was that this guy hadn't done anything - yet - that warranted shooting him. And besides, I wanted him in one piece so he could answer questions.

I flicked my eyes towards Marie. She nodded very slightly. I would keep the guy occupied while she went in close and used her power to take him out.

It was then that I realized that the stainless steel bracelet that Hank had given me was getting warmer and warmer. And the tingling sensation was more intense. I could feel a growing pressure in my head, like the first sign of a nasty headache.

"Psychic!" I yelled. Marie paused in her approach and aimed her gun again. Getting close to a psychic was dangerous. They're more dangerous if they can touch you.

"Cut it out!" I warned the psychic. The bracelet was now just plain hot and the pressure in my head kept intensifying. The expression on the psychic's face was determined, yet puzzled. He wasn't sure why his attack wasn't working, but he seemed determined to continue.

I was out of options.

I opened fire.

* * *

My bullets got within a yard of the guy and then froze in midair. I've heard that some of the more powerful mind-movers can do something like that. For that matter, so can Lehnsherr. In fact, I've seen him do it. But nobody had ever done that to me before. I found myself thinking that I didn't like the idea that I couldn't deal with a problem by shooting it.

Fortunately, you apparently have to concentrate pretty hard to pull off that particular trick. And our psychic was concentrating more on me than on Marie. She snapped off a few shots and the guy tried to do the same trick with her bullets that he'd done with mine, but his control was sloppy. Some of her shots froze in midair, others deflected away, and one went into his arm.

The bullets that had been suspended in mid-air clattered to the floor. Grimacing in pain, and holding on to his wounded arm, our target ran for the backdoor, leaving behind a trail of blood. A strange, rippling haze seemed to surround him. I snapped a pair of shots after him, but despite the fact it should have been an easy shot, I missed. Apparently he was still somehow jinxing our gunfire.

Marie and I advanced to the examination table. Ross was stirring now, roused by the gunfire. Marie quickly reloaded and then covered the doors as I freed Ross from the straps that were holding her to the table. At that point, my only plan was to get our client and ourselves the hell out of there. The guy we'd wounded had more power than I was comfortable facing alone. His trick with the bullets had scared me - being able to do both matter and mind manipulation is a sign of a really powerful psychic. I was already mentally flipping through the list of heavy-hitters that I might call in for reinforcements. Emma was on the top of the list.

"Hu'wha?" Ross said groggily as I helped her off the table and onto her feet. She'd obviously been doped. Under other circumstances, I suppose an armful of a naked Elizabeth Ross would have been fun, but at the moment I was too busy trying to think three steps ahead to enjoy the experience.

We fell back to the front door. Marie kicked it open and checked the porch.

Our client made some more indistinct noises that were probably supposed to be questions. And I was having trouble hanging on to her. For a brief moment we looked each other directly in the face and I was surprised at how unnaturally, eerily, green Ross' eyes were. And since when was she taller than me?

"Dom!" Marie gasped as she stared at me and Ross. But I already knew that something was wrong.

Ross was growing. And she was turning green.

* * *

Ross was screaming as I let go of her and staggered away, trying to put myself between Marie and whatever the hell Ross was becoming.

Ross was putting on something like two feet of height and three hundred pounds of muscular weight. With a horrible tearing noise, a pair of giant wings burst out of her back. Meanwhile, her legs twisted and stretched into something you might expect to see on a seven-foot tall owl, as feathers sprouted from her lower body, her fingernails expanded into long daggers, and her skin darkened into a shade of emerald green.

I was mesmerized by the transformation. Ross was becoming something terrible, frightening, and strangely beautiful. Marie grabbed me and dragged me out onto the porch as Ross snarled at us in rage.

Her mouth was huge. And her teeth were like knives.

I instinctively raised my gun. So did Marie. But the fact we couldn't bring ourselves to open fire probably saved our lives.

"Where's Bruce?" she growled at us. Her voice was incredibly deep and edged with boundless fury.

"I don't know!" I answered quickly. "Ask the guy we shot. He went out the back door."

The creature that had been Elizabeth Ross suddenly turned away from us, her wildly swinging wings toppling a bookshelf and smashing a lab table to pieces in the process. Then she bounded to the center of the room, sending yet more equipment and furniture flying. She was simply too big for the scale of the room.

Ross bent over and closely examined the blood trail from the guy we'd shot. Then she touched her long dark tongue to a splatter of blood. Her face twisted into an expression that was almost orgasmic with joy.

With another howl, Ross took off and flew into the back wall. The wall exploded outwards as Ross made a yards-wide opening for herself. Through the hole that used be most of the back wall, I caught of glimpse of her wings flapping powerfully as Ross vaulted into the sky,

Then, from high above in the night sky, we heard Ross howl again.

She was on the hunt.

* * *

"What the hell?" Marie asked me. Her eyes were wide and the gun in her hand was trembling. We were still standing on the front porch, but we had both edged against the house wall. That way, the porch roof gave us cover from anything flying overhead.

I shrugged helplessly. If you hang around with the powered set, you sometimes see people who can transform into something else, but a change this massive was new to me.

Marie glanced at our car and said urgently, "Dom, we've got to get out of here!"

Actually, I agreed with her, but a thought had occurred to me.

"We need to check the rest of the house," I said.

Marie hesitated for a moment. Then she took a deep breath and nodded in agreement.

We cautiously reentered the now-wrecked laboratory. We could obviously see all there was to see of the first floor, so we advanced up the stairs. The second floor hadn't been modified. It had three bedrooms and a bathroom.

We found Dr. Banner in one of the bedrooms. He was out like a light and handcuffed to a bed. A syringe and a small vial of morphine were on table near the door. I counted the needle tracks on Banner's arm and winced.

Banner heard us. His eyes blearily cracked open and he tried to focus on us.

His eyes were the same shade of bright green as Ross and the guy who'd been holding he and Ross prisoner.

"Help me. Please help me," he croaked through cracked lips.

* * *

We got Banner out of his handcuffs, found him some clothes, and bundled him into our car. After some hesitation, I took the morphine, the syringe, and some clean needles as well. We needed Banner functional and communicative. And besides, I had an ugly suspicion what might happen if he started going through withdrawal.

We checked the rest of the property before leaving. We found a Sheriff Department patrol car parked behind the barn. The windshield was smashed in and the driver's seat was soaked with blood. It looked like the local deputy wasn't going to be getting back to Detective Cody anytime soon.

There was an all-night diner on the highway just outside of the city. It mostly served truckers. We stopped there. Banner obviously needed something to eat.

"Who are you?" Banner asked haggardly as he slurped down a bowl of soup.

"I'm called Domino. This is my partner, Marie. We're private eyes. Your... assistant... Miss Ross hired us to find you."

He looked at us, obviously worried. "Betty? Is she all right?"

I wasn't really sure how to answer that. "Like I said, she hired us to find you. Now, do you want to tell us what's going on?"

Banner paused in his attack on his food to rub his eyes. "Sterns is a madman. He wants to steal my research."

So the guy in the lab had been Sterns. But otherwise I figured Banner wasn't tell me all of the truth.

"C'mon, Banner. Sterns wants something more than your file cabinet. He was experimenting on you."

Banner didn't come across as a tough guy. In fact, some might be inclined to say that he wasn't much of a man at all. But for a moment, a look entered his strange eyes. A look that suggested that ultimately he wasn't somebody you wanted to cross.

"As I said - Sterns is a madman. There's no accounting for what he does."

"Look, Banner, when we got to your laboratory, Betty was tied buck-naked to a table and Sterns was doing God knows what to her. When we busted down the door to rescue her, she turned into something big and green that had wings. She followed Sterns. If I had to make a guess, she plans on hunting him down. And I don't think she plans on having a pleasant conversation when she finds him."

Banner dropped his spoon. It bounced off the table and clattered to the floor. His eyes were wide and his face was pale.

"No," he whispered.

"One more time, Doc. What the hell is going on?"

Banner buried his face in his hands.

I let him think it over for a few seconds. Then Marie said softly, "Listen, Doc, do you want us to help Betty? Then you better talk."

* * *

The waitress delivered the rest of our food. Banner waited until she was gone until he started talking.

"It was six months ago," Banner said as he poked listlessly at some mashed potatoes. Apparently his appetite was gone.

"I was doing research into the properties of certain exotic forms of radiation. I was using my University lab and Betty had just signed on as my assistant. I had discovered that under certain circumstances some forms of radiation had an effect on test animals. It physically transformed them, but the changes were unpredictable and could be quite grotesque or even dangerous. And there was an odd green coloration associated with the irradiated animals."

"But then something happened in my laboratory. A massive amount of radiation was released and Betty and I were both exposed. I managed to get us out of the laboratory, but at the time I was sure we would both soon be dead from radiation exposure. However, that didn't happen."

Banner paused and then rubbed his eyes. "Maybe it would have been better if we had died then and there."

"Get on with it, Doc," I said quietly.

"Betty and I had both been... changed. But we weren't the only ones."

"Let me guess," I said. "There was a janitor in the building when the accident happened. Right?"

Marie gave me a sharp look.

Banner just nodded, "Samuel Sterns. A lazy no-account who wasn't even a very good janitor. I complained to the administration about him several times, but they did nothing. I'm convinced that the radiation release was his fault. He'd heard that I wanted him fired and did something to my equipment."

I looked at Marie, "Remember what I said about the various Samuel Sterns who were living in town? One of them was a janitor. But when I checked on him, he was out of work. I didn't know about his connection to the University."

Banner nodded again, "After the incident, I put my foot down and finally got Sterns fired. About two months later, he contacted me. He wanted to exchange information about the so-called "accident". At first, I was incredulous. The man didn't even have a high-school education! But it quickly became obvious that he had also been changed by the radiation exposure. He's now much more intelligent. And he's somehow managed to train himself in physics, higher mathematics, biology, and a variety of other disciplines - all in just a few months!"

"Seeing as how you think he tried to kill you, it strikes me as an odd decision to talk to the man," Marie observed.

Banner made a disgusted face, "He had useful information. And we both desperately needed to cooperate."

"Why?" I asked.

Banner sighed and put down his fork. "Because all of us - Betty, Sterns, and I - are dying. It's a slow process, but it's just a matter of time. Betty and I have been working on a cure ever since we were exposed. So was Sterns, but he was behind us. It took him a while to train himself in what he needed to know."

"So Betty didn't know about Sterns?" I asked.

Banner shook his head, "Not everything. She had just started working in my lab when the incident happened. She'd never met Sterns and didn't know his name. When I started sharing information with him, she assumed he was a colleague from another university."

"But you had an argument with Sterns. You eventually stopped talking to him," I said.

Banner's eyes met mine, "Our research was stalemated and we were getting nowhere. He told me the only way to proceed was to work with a live specimen. We need to experiment on a human subject who had been exposed to the radiation."

Marie took a sharp breath.

"He wanted to experiment on Betty?" I asked slowly.

"Yes. He said it was logical since she was contributing the least to our research."

* * *

"What do we do now?" Marie asked.

Banner was sitting in the car, looking lost and forlorn as a gas-monkey filled our tank. Marie and I were in the gas station, pretending to buy some cigarettes.

"Now we put Banner on ice and try to find our client," I answered.

"Our client can fly," Marie observed.

"That's a problem," I conceded.

"And if she's found Sterns, she might also be a murderer," Marie added.

"That's another problem."

"Unless, of course, Sterns has mind-controlled Betty and she's now working for him."

"Third problem."

"And where do we put Banner? He's a hot potato. We need to bury him deep if a psychic is after him."

"Logan might help with that."

Marie blinked, "You're going to talk to Logan?"

Normally I try to keep my distance from Logan. Marie's the one who's usually more willing to have something to do with him.

"I'll make a deal," I said.

Marie winced. There was a lot of history between Logan, Marie, and I. He wasn't going to be easy on me.

"Are you sure, Dom?"

"We need the kind of muscle that only Logan can provide."

"Do you want me to ask him?"

I bristled, "You aren't getting on your knees for Logan!"

Marie smiled and ruffled my hair, "Hey, sweetie, don't get mad. We've both been on our knees for Logan. And at the time, we enjoyed it."

"Cut it out, Marie," I said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry."

By then we had walked back to the car. The guy pumping our gas screwed the gas tank cap back on, gave us a look of utter contempt, and stalked back inside.

In the car, Dr. Banner was shooting up with morphine.

"Oh, dear Lord," Marie said as she looked away in disgust.

"No choice," I said.

"I know!"

* * *

We were back at Logan's hotel. Marie and Dr. Banner were having a drink in the bar. And I was in Logan's office.

The office really wasn't that fancy. Logan isn't big on appearances. When I sat down in the chair that faced his desk, my back was to the door. Standing on either side of the door were two of Logan's more lethal chippies: Raven and Yuriko. Of the three other people in the room, I could maybe take two of them in a one-on-one fight. I wouldn't have a prayer if all of them - or even just two of them - ganged up on me.

"Yeah, this is a hotel," Logan growled. "But we really don't get a lot of guests."

"Just for a couple of days, Logan."

Logan stubbed out a cigar with more force than was required. "Who's after him?"

"A psychic. Powerful one, I think. It's a new guy named Sam Sterns."

I could see the gears turning in Logan's head. Psychics were a problem. They could mess with your mind and if they were good enough you wouldn't even know that something had been done to you. And they could get a lot of mileage out of manipulating people with power. Logan knew that better than most since his pet psychic, an English girl named Braddock, had been a key element of his take-over of the town from the Santini family. Logan might not have wanted to admit it, but a previously unknown psychic - and a powerful one - was a problem that he had to worry about.

Then I took a deep breath and continued. "I also need to borrow some of your people."

Logan's mouth described a flat and narrow line.

"Who?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ororo and Warren."

"Why?"

"I need people who can fly."

Logan examined me suspiciously. Ororo owed me a huge favor - and by association, so did Warren. Logan knew that if I ignored him and went straight to Ororo and Warren, they would probably help me. I was being courteous by asking him for their help.

"Okay," Logan said. "I'll watch your chump for a couple of days. Betsy and a few others will stay here and babysit him. And if Ororo and Warren want to help you, that's fine."

Then, after a suitably ominous pause, he added, "But you owe me for this."

"What do you want?" I asked warily.

He laughed. "Dom, what I want is a harem consisting of you, Marie, Ororo, and that cute redhead Emma Frost is banging. But I'll settle for a little less. First, when this is over, you tell me everything you know about this Sterns guy. Second, you owe me a future job - no questions asked."

I winced. "What kind of job?"

"That's a question, Dom. Didn't you hear the part about 'no questions asked'? Do we have a deal or not?"

I took a deep breath. "One job only, Logan. But you don't own me and I don't work for you. Understand?"

Logan smiled and poured me a drink.

As I left, Raven - dressed from head to toe in her trademark blue - gave me a feral smile. Yuriko was outfitted as a traditional geisha. She didn't smile, but her eyes seemed to look deep into me as she held the door open.

"Welcome home, sister," Yuriko said to me in Japanese.

Raven walked me back to the bar. That smile was still on her face.

"You got something to say?" I said tensely. I really don't like Raven.

"Yuriko and I usually take turns sucking Logan's cock. Where do you want to fit in the rotation?"

"Go to hell!" I snarled at her. Raven just laughed at me.

* * *

"I blew Logan," I told Marie as we left the hotel.

She blinked in surprise, "Really?"

"Only metaphorically. I owe him a job sometime in the future."

"You mean we owe him a job," she pointed out quietly.

"Nope. Just me."

"Just we," Marie said firmly. That's Marie. Loyal right to the end.

Then she kissed me. It didn't really solve anything, but I still felt better.

* * *

We were dead tired and I decided we better get some sleep or we'd be pretty ragged tomorrow. However, back at our apartment I took the time to warm-up the radio and spend a few minutes flicking from station to station.

"Anything?" Marie asked.

I shook my head. I was hoping that Miss Ross had been spotted. A huge green lady with wings should make the news. That would give us an idea where she was.

"We can check again after dawn," Marie said.

That made sense. We stripped down to our underwear, curled up on the couch under a comfy blanket, and fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

The next morning, we checked the radio again. Europe was a mess, the Depression was still with us, Hollywood was full of glamorous idiots, and nobody had anything to say about a flying green amazon.

Ororo wasn't wearing much when she answered my knock on her door. Just a short robe that was backlit enough by the morning sun to show that there was nothing underneath. Ororo isn't really a clothes person. She tends to wear nothing at home, but in a nod to convention, she keeps something that she can throw on quickly hanging on a hook next to her door. I assume she's really popular with the local delivery boys.

"Domino! Marie!" she said with a smile that would have knocked anyone interested in women back on their heels.

Then she saw the expressions on our faces and her smile vanished.

"Come in," she said, holding the door open.

Ororo had been with Logan for a long time. A lot of people figured that she ranked just after Hank in the gang hierarchy. Like Logan, Ororo wasn't into the obvious signs of luxury. Her apartment was large and had a gorgeous skylight, but it was filled with flowers instead of expensive furniture or fine art. The only hints of extravagance were almost certainly gifts from her boyfriend.

And speaking of Ororo's boyfriend, Warren Worthington the Third - the richest and most unlikely gangster in the world - was slouched in the center of Ororo's couch, reading a newspaper. All he had on was a pair of boxer shorts, and his wings were spread lazily across the top of the couch. Warren is a blonde god who's a match in contrasts to Ororo's darker beauty. When you're around Ororo and Warren, you tend to feel really uncertain about your looks.

Warren put down his newspaper and stood up, but he didn't bother to go get dressed. Warren knows the effect he has on women and he enjoys it.

Then the arrogant jackass nodded to me politely... and walked over to Marie and planted a kiss right on her mug. I resisted the temptation to shoot him on the spot. You have to make some allowances when Marie runs into the people from Logan's gang. She goes way back with most of them and they seem to like her.

Marie smiled and said, "Stop that you big galoot." But she really didn't seem to be too put out. Dear God, she was actually blushing.

"Good to see you, too, Rogue," Warren chuckled.

"What is wrong, Domino?" Ororo asked me.

"Well, for one thing, your boy-toy is pawing my girl," I said. Warren gave me an amused look. Marie had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Warren is very demonstrative," Ororo said. Warren proved her point by walking over to Ororo, lazily slipping the shoulder of her robe down, and planting a kiss on some delicious-looking light-brown skin.

"So I see. I was hoping you and Warren could help us track down a missing client."

Ororo frowned, "I certainly owe you a favor, Domino. But you are very good P.I. Why do you need our help?"

"Our client turned green, grew seven foot tall, and now has a pair of wings."

I'll treasure the look that appeared on their faces until the day I die.

* * *

We were back up at Grenwald. And his time we were loaded for bear. I was carrying a Thompson submachinegun. Emma was with us. And our air cover was about to take off.

Without any hesitation, Marie stripped to the waist. Then she kissed Warren while Ororo and I tried not to stare daggers at the procedure. Emma was obviously amused at our irritation, but she seemed to enjoy the show.

The kiss went on and on. Warren had his hands on Marie's waist. She had his head in both of her hands. Neither of them bothered to disguise the fact that they were enjoying what they were doing.

A pair of beautiful white wings slowly unfurled from Marie's shoulders. Her eyes were bright and eager as she broke the kiss with Warren. Stepping back, she flapped her wings experimentally. Then, with a yell of sheer joy, she leapt into the sky. The powerful sweep of her wings blew the hat from my head, and I caught a glimpse of her waving at me as she spiraled upwards. It occurred to me that this wasn't the first time she'd made use of Warren's wings.

Warren followed Marie into the sky. A flight of mountain birds twittered in indignation at the alien intruders, and scattered in all directions to avoid them.

Ororo walked to the other side of the road and summoned her winds. She tumbled into the sky in a manner very different than Warren and Marie, but no less graceful or amazing. Marie and Warren swept down and then came up on either side of Ororo. The three of them held hands - with Ororo between Marie and Warren - as the sky echoed with their laughter and they swept higher and higher.

Emma got out of the car and met my eye. "I'm not used to feeling so... unremarkable," she said wryly.

I smiled grimly as I chambered a round into my Tommy gun, "Now you know how I felt on the drive up here. You four are hard on a girl's self-image."

Emma pulled a handgun out of her purse. Then she negligently discarded the purse - which had freaking diamonds inlaid in the leather - into my car. The firearm she was sporting surprised me. I would have expected something tiny, elegant, and pricey. Instead she was carrying something big, nasty, and pricey: a Stark conversion of a broomhandle Mauser. That was actually a very serious weapon.

I was still wearing my anti-psychic bracelet. So was Marie. But this time, our primary defense on the psychic front was Emma. I was actually sort of hoping Sterns would try something.

As we started trudging up the gravel track to the Banner place, Emma asked, "What did it cost to get all of this help from Logan?"

I grimaced, "I owe him an investigation. No questions asked."

"Was that wise?"

"No. But my client is in trouble, Emma. And she needs more help than Marie and I can give her on our own."

"Dom, that honorable streak will be the death of you eventually."

"Maybe."

"By the way, what will be my reward be for helping you?"

"How about a handshake, a slap on the back, and a hearty word of thanks?"

"I had something more personal in mind."

"Hmm. You know, this is usually the part where you put a dirty picture in my mind. In this case it would probably be the one where I'm wearing nothing but a frilly white apron as I pour you a glass of champagne. Sure is a shame that I'm wearing this piece of anti-psychic hardware, isn't it?"

"Actually, you rather like that image. So stop complaining."

Then we broke into the clearing where the Banner house was located.

* * *

Nobody was home. Emma and I did a quick check of the house, the barn, and the outbuildings. The patrol car was still hidden out back and we found a soft spot in the ground behind the barn where I suspected the deputy was buried. Aside from that, there was nothing to see.

Overhead, Warren, Ororo, and Marie kept watch. Every now and then, we communicated by hand signals. They hadn't spotted anything either.

"Now what?" Emma asked. We were in the laboratory.

"Can you get a psychic feel for Sterns or Betty?" I replied.

Emma wandered around the place, frowning thoughtfully as she touched or picked up various items. She spent a lot of time with her eyes closed and both hands on the examination table where Betty had been strapped down.

"I'm not getting anything at all for Sterns - he's dangerously powerful. But Miss Ross has a very strong aura. She's somewhere east of us, but I can't get much more than that."

I nodded, "Good."

Emma opened her eyes. "Dom, 'east of us' is a big place."

"Then it's a good thing we have our own Air Corps to do reconnaissance for us."

* * *

We found Betty Ross in the hills just inland from the city.

Warren and Ororo circled overhead as Emma and I drove up. Betty was sitting on a shelf of rock by the side of the road. She was naked, badly bruised, and obviously out of sorts. Marie, still topless and with wings, was sitting next to her. She was quietly talking to Betty as they held hands. One of her wings was tucked around Betty to keep her warm.

As I set my car's hand-brake, I glanced at Emma.

Emma was staring narrowly at Betty, "She's deep in shock. And her memory is a mess. I'm only getting bits and pieces from after she transformed. She caught up to Sterns and there was a fight. But Sterns had help of some kind and he escaped."

I grunted as I opened the car door. Sterns wasn't alone. Great.

Emma silently fell in behind me as I walked over to Betty.

"Betty?" I said as I squatted next to her.

"Hello, Domino," she said as she gave me a distant glance. Her eyes weren't green any longer. They were a deep shade of brown.

Emma - cruel and haughty Emma - gently wrapped her ridiculously expensive coat around Betty. Then she smoothed back Betty's wild tangle of hair. Some of the tension in Betty seemed to slip away.

"Betty, I've got some good news," I said quietly. "We've found Bruce."

A spark seemed to light in Betty's eyes. And they slipped from brown to a light shade of green. I tried not to react.

"Bruce?" Betty said as a tiny smile appeared on her face. I hoped to hell that Banner was worth what Betty felt for him, but frankly I wasn't too sure about that.

"He's in town and we can take you to him, but we've got a problem."

"Problem?" Betty said. He brow furrowed and her eyes began turning a deeper shade of green.

Emma touched Betty on the shoulder. Betty seemed to relax. Her eye color was stable, but it wasn't sliding back to her normal brown.

"Sterns is after you and Bruce," I said. "You won't be safe until we find him and deal with him. Do you know anything, Betty? Anything at all that can help us find him?"

Betty shuddered and shook her head. "Sterns got away from me. I tried to kill him, but he got away."

"That's okay, Betty. You don't have to fight him, but we do need your help. Do you know where Sterns is holed up?"

Betty frowned, "There was something he said when I was his prisoner - he said Bruce's lab was better than his. I didn't know he had a lab."

I mentally kicked myself. It made sense that Sterns had a lab of his own. That should have been obvious from what Banner had said. And that was something we could work with.

"Betty, we're going to take you back to town. And you can see Bruce. Is that okay?"

She nodded eagerly and stumbled to her feet.

Marie helped Betty to the car as I gave Emma a worried look.

"She needs some rest. And seeing that man of hers will help, but..."

Emma hesitated.

"What?"

"She's frightened and upset, Dom. Whatever happened six months ago in Banner's lab is slowly killing her and she knows it. And then there's Sterns, of course. But there's more. Your client is pregnant."

* * *

We drove back to town with Betty curled up in my back seat. She slept, with Emma's coat as a blanket and her head in Marie's lap. Emma made sure her sleep was deep and peaceful.

"How sure are you about her being pregnant?" I asked.

"I can sense the child. It's about two months along."

I didn't have any response.

"You better get used to the idea that you won't be able to save her," Emma said quietly.

I looked at Emma, but I didn't say anything.

"You've found Betty's boyfriend. You can do whatever it takes to get Sterns out of their lives. But Betty's dying. And then there's that thing she changes into... Those aren't the sort of things we can do anything about. Perhaps nobody can."

I turned my eyes back to the road.

"Maybe," I answered.

* * *

All hell broke loose just as I made the turn onto the street where Logan's hotel was located.

There was rumbling roar and part of the front wall of the hotel exploded out into the street. I saw the distinct streak of Sam Guthrie's rocket-like trail as he blasted his way out of the hotel. Sam was wrapped in the grip of something huge, green, and crudely man-like. The two of them piled into a building on the opposite side of the street from the hotel. It promptly collapsed on them.

There was a moment of stunned silence broken only by the crash of collapsing brick and masonry. Then a vast green form stood up in the wrecked building. He snarled as debris cascaded away from his gigantic body. I didn't see any sign of Sam.

Emma's eyes were wide as I parked the car some distance down the street.

"Emma, allow me to introduce you to Dr. Bruce Banner," I said as calmly as possible.

The big, hulking, green guy threw his head back and roared up at the sky. Lead by Logan, a half-dozen mutant gangsters spilled out of the hotel. Logan's had his claws were out and he looked really, really pissed.

"Wait in the car!" Emma and I yelled simultaneously. As we stared at each other in surprise, Marie disentangled herself from Betty, got out, and began sprinting towards the fight.

"Oh, damn it!" Emma said.

Using language quite a bit stronger than that, I unholstered my piece and followed Marie.

By then, there was a whirlwind of a fight going on in the middle of the street. A lightning bolt slammed down from the sky - Ororo was still overhead - and hit Banner dead center. That staggered him enough that Logan was able to leap claws-first into Banner's face. Bobby Drake got too damn close and a flailing green arm the size of a telephone pole smashed him across the street and through a plate glass window. Scott Summers fired a burst of three optic blasts that just seemed to skitter off of Banner. Yuriko ducked low and tried to hamstring Banner with her freakishly long finger-claws. Her claws just slid off with no discernable effect.

Marie reached into the window Bobby had been smashed through and grabbed his arm. Then she fired a blast of cold ice at Banner's feet. Banner had a lot of problems at the moment, not the least being a face-full of Logan's claws, and that was enough to cause him to loose his balance and slam to the ground. With a roar, Banner kicked out and clipped Yuriko in the side, which knocked her for a loop. As Banner climbed to his feet, Warren swept in low and fast and smashed shoulder first into Banner's massive back. Warren bounced away and crashed to the pavement. His arm was hanging at a weird angle, but Banner didn't even look like he'd noticed. I lined up a shot on the bridge of Banner's nose. I wasn't sure if that would hurt him, but I was willing to bet that it would definitely distract him.

*STOP!* Emma shouted in our minds. Her psychic shout was pretty loud. My bracelet instantly became uncomfortably hot.

Thanks to the bracelets, Marie and I were okay, but everyone else stopped fighting and began looking around blankly - as if unsure where they were. Ororo fell out of the sky and went to check on Warren. Emma collapsed to her knees, her head in her hands. That stunt had obviously taken a lot out of her.

Like everyone else, Banner seemed puzzled. It occurred to me that you could still see his normal features dimly represented in his big, green, face. Then whatever control Emma had over him vanished. He shook his head, crouched, and leaped into the sky. It was an incredible jump.

By then, Betty was out of the car. Wearing nothing but Emma's coat, she ran after Banner - screaming his name at a rapidly dwindling green speck in sky.

* * *

"What happened?" I asked.

We were in what was left of the hotel's bar. A jagged ten-foot wide hole in the wall gave it a new view of the street.

Logan used his teeth to pull the cork from a bottle and took a long slug. Then he handed the bottle to me. I took a drink and transferred the bottle to Hank. I noticed that both Logan and Hank now had on the same bracelets that Marie and I were wearing. Emma was still in the area and they apparently didn't trust her. As I keep saying, Logan and Hank are a lot smarter than they look.

"Banner ran out of morphine," Hank said with a shrug. "Before we could get him some more, he got big, mean, and green. He knocked out Danni and Betsy with one punch. That left Sam to fight Banner on his own until the cavalry showed up."

"The kid has heart," I said with an impressed shake of my head.

"He's also got a lot of broken bones," Logan grated. Say what you will about Logan, but he tries to take care of his people.

"Anyone else hurt?"

Hank finished the report. "Yuriko has some busted ribs. Bobby has a lot of cuts - some pretty bad. Warren's got a dislocated shoulder. Raven's still knocked out. Everyone else has the usual set of bruises and bumps."

Betsy Braddock took that moment to storm into the bar. She's yet another cutie - a British girl who had to flee home when her powers began to show. She's also Logan's best psychic. At the moment, she was sporting an impressive black-eye and was holding an ice-pack against the side of her head.

"You bitch!" she hissed at me. My bracelet began heating up again. I was beginning to wonder what I would have to do for Hank in order to keep it.

Hank stood up, grabbed Braddock by the shoulders, and then forcibly turned her around until she was facing the door. A firm slap on the posterior sent Braddock back out of the room.

"You aren't real popular right now," Logan said dryly as Hank sat back down on his barstool.

"What was she trying to do to me?"

Hank took another drink. "She said something right after the fight about putting you to work in the worst whorehouse in town until you paid us back for damages and hospital bills."

Yikes.

"It's an idea," Logan added thoughtfully.

Double yikes.

"But that's a problem for later," Logan continued. "Right now, I want you to tell me what's going on."

I spilled what I knew. Before you start wondering if I was betraying the confidentiality of my client, you should know that Logan had the resources to figure out everything I knew. And some of his methods were less than gentle. And this way I got to make sure he heard the story in a way that put Betty in the best possible light.

"These people - Banner, Ross, and Sterns - they aren't like us," Hank said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"That Xavier guy called us mutants. He said we were born different from other people, but our actual powers don't start showing up until we start to mature. But these guys turned into what they are in a lab accident."

"And it's killing them," I pointed out.

Logan gave me a lop-sided smile, "You don't think our powers are killing us, Dom? How many of us have normal lives? Or families? How many of us do you suppose are going to die peacefully in bed?"

That was surprisingly philosophical for a gang boss. He also had a point.

* * *

Over the radio, we heard excited reports of a green giant roaming around the downtown, causing random damage. We made an effort to track Banner down, but he was always just ahead of us. After a few hours, things went quiet. However, the cops were on alert and foot patrols armed with shotguns and rifles were wandering the streets.

"This case is a mess!" Marie fumed. "First we have Betty, but Banner is missing. Then we lose Betty, but find Banner. Then we find Betty, but Banner gets away again."

I shrugged helplessly.

"We have a problem," Emma told me.

"Tell me about it," I said with a distracted shake of my head.

"Domino, you have to understand this: Banner is very hard to psychically control when he's transformed into his giant form. Perhaps I can deal with Ross, but Banner is a different story."

I looked at Emma thoughtfully, "What if we bring in Jean to back you up?"

Emma shook her head and said very flatly, "That's not going to happen. This is too dangerous."

"Then we better not run into Banner when he's all green," Marie interjected.

Emma nodded. "I have to agree. Our best bet is to avoid Banner until he changes back to normal. Depending on psychic powers to control him is a bad bet."

I nodded my head in reluctant agreement. I was just hoping that fate would be kind enough to cooperate with what we wanted.

* * *

Thanks to the run-in with Banner, Warren was out of action for a couple of days. Our team was down to Marie, Emma, Ororo, and me.

We regrouped in a diner that's not too far from Logan's hotel. Betty had been moved to another location, but Logan's people were keeping an eye on her. I guess Logan figured we still had a deal.

Emma opened her eyes and looked at the rest of us. She looked pretty wore out. "I still can't get a read on Banner," she said. "But that isn't too surprising. The city provides a lot of background interference."

I made a face. Naturally this wasn't going to be easy.

"What now?" Marie asked me.

"We find Sterns," I replied. "If we can take him out of the picture, a lot of our problems will go away. And it will help if we can look for Banner without constantly looking over our shoulders."

Marie nodded in agreement. "And our best bet is to track down Sterns' laboratory?"

I put a list in the middle of the table, "I got this from Betty. It's a summary of specialized equipment that would be useful for the kind of research Sterns is doing. The items circled in red are particularly unusual and expensive."

"As you asked, I checked with my office," Emma began as she opened a notebook of her own. "There are five scientific and medical supply businesses in town."

Frowning thoughtfully, I looked at Emma, "How long would it take you to visit their offices and psychic their salesmen?"

Emma shook her head as she picked up Betty's list. "No need for that," she said. "I'll just phone them and ask for the information. Those companies need to keep Frost Enterprises happy."

Marie and Ororo gave each other an amused look. I hid a smile.

When you get down to it, money is the best super-power of all.

* * *

It took the rest of the day to get the information we needed. After that, it was just a matter of checking mailing addresses.

"Green Future Laboratories?" I said disgustedly. "You've got to be kidding."

"We probably could have figured that out just by looking in the phone book," Marie chuckled.

"How do you want to handle this?" Ororo asked me.

"Reconnaissance followed by lots of violence."

* * *

'Green Future Laboratories' was located in a converted warehouse in the Piedmont district. During the middle of the last century, Piedmont was a bustling manufacturing center. But eventually the factories got old and started closing down. The Depression finished off the last of them. Now Piedmont was an all-but-abandoned wasteland in the middle of the city, filled with empty buildings.

We were parked on a low hill that gave us a view of the district. It was night and we could see small heating and cooking fires scattered here and there among the abandoned structures. The train yards for the city were located nearby and the hobos had found that Piedmont an attractive place to squat. I wondered how long it would be until a fire got out of control and Piedmont burned to the ground.

Emma opened her eyes and shrugged irritably, "I can't get anything. Something is shielding the building from me."

"At least we know we've got the right place," observed Marie.

"Before sunset, I saw some people around the building," Ororo said. "There was perhaps a dozen of them. They were wearing work uniforms and making an effort to look busy. But if you watched long enough, you could tell that they were merely moving crates from one end of the facility to the other. They are actually guards."

"Weapons?" I asked.

"Nothing obvious, but I was keeping my distance and they might have handguns. Also, they could have any number of weapons hidden in the area."

"The moon's up," Marie observed as she nodded towards the horizon. It was a three-quarter moon. It was going to be a fairly bright night.

I glanced at Ororo.

"Anything specific?" she asked.

I thought for a second before responding. "Give us a storm. It should have a slow buildup so it doesn't look too unnatural. Then make it rain buckets when we get close. Shut it down once we get inside the fence and up to the building. Be ready to drop lightning on anything that looks like trouble. After we get inside, follow us in."

Ororo just nodded as if I'd asked for nothing more complex than going down to the corner store and picking up a newspaper. It's a joy to have Ororo on your side.

Then I looked at Emma and Marie. "You two are with me. We'll use the storm for cover as we approach the building. If we can, we'll sneak in. Otherwise, we fight."

Marie nodded instantly. Emma made a face, but didn't say anything.

Now came the tricky part. "Emma, I want you to let Marie duplicate your powers."

That went over like a lead balloon. First they both gave me a disbelieving look. Then they glared at one another. However, what I'd said made too much sense. If we ran into Sterns, we'd need all of the psychic firepower we could manage.

Marie sighed, took off her anti-psychic bracelet and tossed to Ororo. "Here," she said to Ororo, "the last damn thing we want is for Sterns to take you over."

Emma resignedly extended her hand. Marie grinned - anything that made Emma uncomfortable was fine by her - and then ignored the offered hand and stepped right up and kissed Emma. Emma stiffened in shocked surprise. Then she relaxed as her body sensously molded into Marie's.

I rolled my eyes. Ororo gave me an amused glance as she slipped on the bracelet that Marie had given her.

The kiss went on. And on. Emma had grabbed Marie's ass and pulled her even closer. Marie had one hand on the small of Emma's back and the other on the back of her neck. For the first time, I noticed that Marie was taller than Emma.

I coughed loudly.

The kiss ended, but Emma and Marie were still in each other's arms, staring into each other's eyes.

"Bitch," Marie purred.

"Slut," Emma replied with a smile.

"Whore."

"Slag."

"Cow."

"Trollop."

Ororo was trying not to laugh.

"We've got a job to do," I said stiffly.

* * *

Never tell Ororo that you want a lot of rain.

It was a damned deluge. We were soaked to the bone and the water splashing over the asphalt and concrete was at ankle level - and rising. Dear God, I half expected to see somebody building an Ark.

On the other hand, we didn't have to be particularly stealthy. Nobody was going to see us unless we bumped into them. I found the fence to the warehouse by literally walking right into it. Slipping a pair of wire-cutters out of my jacket pocket, I cut us a hole through the chain-link. Then we crawled inside.

I was squinting through the rain - trying to make out the details of the main building - when I felt a sudden surge of psychic energy and then heard something splash. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Emma crouching over a still figure who was laid out on the asphalt. Marie was standing nearby, obviously watching for more trouble.

*Dom, take a look at this,* Emma spoke into my mind. I'd ditched my bracelet on the theory that it would be useful to telepathically communicate with Emma and Marie. Between them, they should be powerful enough to keep Sterns off our backs.

I crouched down next to Emma. The guy she'd knocked out wasn't quite human. He had oddly bluish-purple skin and his facial features were strangely indistinct and malformed - as if they were made of wax and then partly melted. At a distance, you might mistake him for a normal human, but once you got close the difference was obvious. He was wearing a typical work uniform, but there was a non-typical heavy revolver in a holster on his belt.

*What the hell is that?* Marie asked telepathically.

*Good question,* I replied.

Emma did the psychic equivalent of a shrug. *His mental patterns are strangely simple. He seems very focused on obeying immediate orders. And he has little in the way of memories.*

Despite the cold rain, I felt my skin crawl, *Do you mean his mind has been altered?*

*No. I don't think he has any memories that are more than a few weeks old. And all of them are about doing simple jobs for Sterns. He's not a human being, Dom. He's something that Sterns created in his laboratory.*

*A Frankenstein's monster?* Marie asked.

Emma shook her head. *I don't know if the analogy is completely accurate, but it's close enough.*

I glanced at Emma, *How many more are there?*

She frowned, *Sterns is still mucking up my psychic read of the area, but I'd guess that Ororo's count of a dozen is more-or-less accurate.*

I didn't like that sound of that. *How hard are they to take down psychically?* I asked.

*It was actually rather easy to knock this one out. I think they're vulnerable to psychic powers. It makes sense that Sterns would build them that way.*

*That's a break,* Marie added.

"About time we got one," I said out loud.

* * *

By the time we got to the entrance, Emma and Marie had taken out two more guards. Pressing my ear to the door, I could hear the repetitive rattle of a generator. Good. Between that and the drumbeat of the rain, we might still be able to sneak inside.

Emma and Marie were off to the sides of the door. I took a deep breath, hefted my Thompson gun, and eased open the door. Light spilled out.

Inside was a vast single room. In the far corner, a lab had been set up. Crudely strung electrical lights illuminated a scene straight out of "Frankenstein". Strange machines were spread around the area. Beakers bubbled on lab tables. Blackboards were covered with strange equations. And the banging sound of the generator filled the air.

Some kind of large animal cage was set off to one side. Banner was in it. He seemed to be unconscious. There was another cage - unoccupied - next to the one Banner was occupying. I guess Sterns was planning on having a pair of lovebirds.

Sterns was wearing a labcoat over his coveralls and standing next to one of the tables. I noted with interest that there was no sign of the bullet wound that Marie had inflicted on him up in Grenwald. In one hand, Sterns had a clipboard. In the other, he had a sandwich. He was examining the clipboard intently. Some guy I'd never seen before - a harried-looking little man who was wearing another labcoat - was rearranging equipment on another one of the lab tables. He paused in what he was doing just long enough to pour some coffee into a mug that was sitting on the table next to Sterns.

It was a startlingly domestic scene from the life of a mad scientist.

I eased into the room and dodged off to the side and into a convenient shadow. Emma and Marie silently followed me. Marie carefully and soundlessly closed the door behind us.

The rain decreased slightly in intensity. I took that as a sign that Ororo was on the way.

Emma glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. I made a 'wait' gesture with my hand. I wanted Ororo nearby before we confronted Sterns.

But then Sterns glanced up in surprise. And his eyes met mine.

* * *

I had my Thompson pointed right at Sterns.

"Don't try anything," I said bleakly. I didn't bother to yell. Sterns wasn't the kind to be impressed by shouting.

Sterns was smart enough not to be cocky. His eyes flicked to either side of me as he noted the presence of Emma and Marie.

The lab assistant was frozen in place, his eyes wide as he stared at me.

"Hands up - slowly," I ordered.

Sterns smiled thinly, put down his clipboard and sandwich, and did as I'd said. The lab assistant also raised his hands.

"Really, Domino. 'Hands up?'" he chuckled.

"Don't tempt me to end this right here and now," I said coldly. And I meant what I'd said. Sterns was dangerous and I couldn't afford to take chances with him. I hoped he understood just how serious I was.

Once again, Sterns checked out Emma and Marie. He apparently knew they were psychics. I figured he was trying to gauge his chances against the two of them. He didn't seem to like the odds. Emma and Marie would be able to parry any psychic attacks he tried - and they should also be able to frustrate his mind-mover trick where he stopped bullets in mid-air. If necessary, I was going to empty the Thompson's drum right into Sterns and he couldn't do much about that.

"It's like this, Sterns," I continued. "You play ball and we'll hand you over to the Feds. If you don't, I'll kill you where you stand."

Say what you will about J. Edgar's boys, but Congress had given them complete authority over psychic crime and all the resources that could be scrounged up to fight it. Call me cynical, but I think politicians are scared silly of people who can see what they're really thinking.

"You don't strike me as a cold-blooded killer, Domino. And what will the police say if they find you with my bullet-riddled corpse?"

"You a psychic who murdered a Sheriff's Deputy, Sterns. The cops won't blink twice when I tell them I didn't have any choice but to gun you down. Hell, I'll have handsome young cops offering to buy me drinks and the Sheriff and the Chief of Police will give me a free pass on parking and speeding tickets for the rest of my life."

Sterns nodded slowly. "Very well. Your logic is unassailable. You had best take me in."

A flicker of a smile appeared on his face... and quickly vanished. You didn't have to be able to read minds to tell what he was thinking. How the hell could we hold a major-league psychic? As soon as he was out of Emma and Marie's clutches, he'd simply mind-control the cops who were holding him and slip away.

Then Sterns' eyes went wide when Marie pulled out a syringe and a bottle of morphine. It wasn't very sophisticated, and the cops really don't like to talk about it, but drugs were the best means law enforcement had come up with to control psychics. I guess Sterns didn't know that I'd heard of that little trick.

Sterns' eyes flickered to Banner and back. He had made Banner into an addict. He didn't like the idea of going the same route.

"Don't do this," Sterns said. And for the first time, I heard fear in his voice. I hate to admit it, but an ugly part of me enjoyed that. Sterns was the kind of guy whose every word was weighted with the contempt he felt for lesser beings. And as far as he was concerned, everyone on Earth was a lesser being. But now the long, slow, train called 'payback' was pulling into the station.

Marie filled the syringe. Then she began to carefully approach Sterns. Emma slipped to the side, concentrating fiercely. This was the tricky part. Sterns was scared and we didn't know the full range of his abilities. And even if the odds were stacked against him, his balls were in a vice and he just might do something desperate.

Then the lab assistant suddenly stepped in front of Sterns.

My finger tightened on the trigger, but I hesitated. One long burst from the Thompson and both Sterns and his Igor would be cut to pieces, but for all I knew, the lab assistant was being mind-controlled. Marie stopped her approach, obviously not sure what to do next.

Emma didn't hesitate at all. She emptied the clip of her Mauser.

* * *

Emma's a surprisingly good shot. Most of her shots slammed into the lab assistant. He went down. That shimmering effect I'd seen before popped up around Sterns and he desperately dove underneath one of the lab tables. Marie had flinched away from the shots, but now she broke into a run towards Sterns.

Banner suddenly screamed. I flicked a quick glance towards his cage. He was awake. And he was changing. Whatever controls Sterns had over him was gone.

Behind us, the door opened. Marie saw that and her eyes went wide. I pivoted to cover whatever was coming inside.

Two of the purple guys were at the door. Both had their handguns out. They had the drop on me and I knew in my gut that there was no way I'd be able to fire before they plugged me.

So, naturally, I got crazy lucky.

A sudden blaze of hot white light flared through the open door and high-set windows of the warehouse. Then there was an ear-shattering roar that made all of us flinch. Ororo had seen something outside that she didn't like - and she had delivered her judgement on it.

The lightning strike didn't hit the two guys at the door, but it did stun then. One fumbled with his gun, but the other raised his at me. I responded with a burst from my Thompson that stitched across their chests and knocked them flat. There was no blood, but both of them went still.

Another lightning strike hammered our ears as I turned my attention away from the door. Something was going on outside, but I had to assume that Ororo was handling it.

"STERNS!" Banner roared. His scream was almost as loud as Ororo's lightning strike. He was roughly half-way transformed into his giant green form. He gave the bars of his cage a yank and they bent.

Emma had reloaded and was covering Sterns as Marie dragged him out from underneath the table. Sterns was also turning green and his head was transforming into a grotesquely long shape. His face was contorted in terror as he ignored us and stared at Banner. It suddenly occurred to me that he was trying to control Banner, but it wasn't working.

And just to top it all off, the lab assistant guy that Emma had thouroughly plugged was staggering to his feet. He was the third guy in the room who was going green. He seemed to be changing into something that looked like a cross between a lizard and a gorilla. As I watched, one of the holes in his chest puckered out a bullet that dropped to the floor. Then the wound closed.

Banner exploded out of his cage. Shrapnel from the cage's metal bars whizzed through the air. Banner had murder in his eyes as he began stomping his way towards Sterns. Emma and Marie - their eyes wide in horror - began backing away. I could tell that they were trying to psychically control Banner as well, but nothing seemed to be working.

By then, Sterns had fully transformed. His body was spindly and sickly-looking, but his head was bizarrely tall - the part above his eyes was at least twice normal height. He gave out a high-pitched scream and tried to run. But Banner was too fast for him.

With Sterns helplessly grabbed in his huge hands, Banner went to work. Sterns' screams turned into something that was only vaguely human.

I've seen a lot of bad things in my life, but sometimes I still have nightmares about what Banner did to Sterns.

Emma and Marie seemed frozen as they tried to do something - anything - to Banner with their psychic powers. I began shoving them to the door.

* * *

Covered with Sterns' pinkish-green blood, Banner howled in rage and turned to look at us.

We all opened fire. Yeah, our job was to save Banner, not kill him, but if you'd seen the way Sterns had come apart in Banner's hands you would have shot him too.

The bullets slowed Banner down, but otherwise didn't do a damn thing.

I stepped forward. "Keep running!" I yelled at Emma and Marie just before I slammed another short burst into Banner. I still had half-drum of ammo in my Thompson. Maybe I could keep Banner occupied long enough for them to get away.

Banner just leaned into my fire and advanced towards us. Bullets were bouncing off of him and his eyes were promising that he'd do to me what he'd done to Sterns. Emma and Marie were reloading frantically as they kept falling back towards the door, but the damn fools refused to run.

"Go! Go! GODDAMMIT, GO!" I screamed at them. I knew my lifespan was measured in terms of the ammo load in my Thompson, but if I could just save Emma and Marie...

Then the lizard-gorilla guy tackled Banner. Punching and clawing wildly at each other, they slammed into the wall of the warehouse and smashed right through it. Chunks of broken brick and mortar flew everywhere.

Emma and Marie and I turned and ran like hell.

* * *

Ororo was standing in the middle of the warehouse loading dock, staring in awe at the two green giants who were trying to tear each other to pieces. The storm Ororo had summoned was still swirling through the sky, occasionally rumbling and flickering with angry thunder and lightning, but the rain had decreased to a soft drizzle. Scattered about the nearby grounds were well over a dozen of the purple guys. Ororo had taken them all out.

Ororo had her hands raised uncertainly - trying to decide if she should drop her lightning on the two monsters.

"Don't!" I said as I grabbed Ororo by the shoulder. There was no guarantee that her lightning would effect them. And I didn't want to attract their attention.

Without a word, Emma and Marie joined hands. Both of them were trembling in obvious fear, but so was I. We were tiny people in the presence of giants.

Banner broke loose from the grip of the lizard-gorilla guy and landed a pile-driver of a blow that staggered his opponent. Then Banner picked up the lizard-gorilla guy and slammed him to the ground. A crater erupted in the now-broken concrete. The shockwave made us all stumble. But through it all, Marie and Emma kept their eyes locked on the two combatants.

The lizard-gorilla guy was trying to crawl to his feet when Banner slammed a massive fist into his face. Bones loudly broke as the lizard-gorilla guy's head visibly deformed. Blood and what I suspected was brain matter flew away from Banner's fist.

The lizard-gorilla guy bonelessly collapsed to the ground. Banner growled at his defeated foe - and then kicked him so hard that downed monster pin-wheeled a good thirty yards away before slamming into the chain-link fence.

Banner grinned, lifted his arms, and howled with triumphant laughter as the rain washed blood from his face and body. With Sterns and the lizard-gorilla guy dead, he seemed to be coming down from his titanic rage.

Then he spotted us and a flicker of irritated recognition passed over his face.

Banner took a step towards us. Then he suddenly frowned - as if he suddenly didn't quite understand where he was and why he was about to kill someone.

"No..." Banner grunted. For a second, I didn't realize that he'd said an actual word. I was used to hearing angry howls from him.

Emma and Marie were still staring at Banner. Their hands were still locked together.

Suddenly, Banner sat down on the wet concrete. Then he began to shrink. In less than a minute, he was a man again, sitting in the rain in tattered clothes and sobbing like a little boy.

Ororo's eyes met mine as thunder rolled overhead. My Thompson was empty, but I had pulled out my automatic. We were both considering murder. Or maybe what we had in mind was more like a mercy killing.

Then Banner looked up at us, his face a portrait of misery. "Betty... is she all right?" he asked brokenly.

The dangerous electric aura surrounding Ororo dwindled away. I took my finger off the trigger of my handgun.

So in the end, it was Betty who save Banner's life.

* * *

"Can you control him?" I asked Emma and Marie.

Emma gave me a skeptical look. Marie shook her head.

"Yes and no," Marie said worriedly. "Right now - yes. But for a while, he was completely berserk and we couldn't do a damn thing to stop him. After he killed Sterns and the other green guy, we managed to get to him."

Emma took a deep breath and began walking over to Banner. A sudden, wild surge of panic went through me and I raised my gun. Marie grabbed my arm and Emma, sensing what I was about to do, held up a hand to stop me.

Crouching next to Banner, Emma put her other hand on his shoulder.

"Dr. Banner?" she asked softly.

Banner looked at her blearily.

"Go to sleep," Emma finished.

Banner collapsed into her arms.

* * *

It was a couple of weeks since the raid on Sterns' laboratory. Betty was out of the hospital and in our office, settling her account with us.

"Thank you," Betty said as she finished counting our fee onto my desk. She had tossed in a hundred dollar bonus. I hadn't turned it down.

Betty looked less healthy than when we first met her. And her belly was beginning to show.

"How's Dr. Banner?" Marie asked quietly.

Betty just smiled. "He's back in his lab."

I wasn't completely sure if that was good news. On the other hand, I certainly hoped Banner would be able to save Betty and himself. And their baby.

There wasn't a lot to say. We shook hands and Betty thanked us again. Then she left.

I flipped through a newspaper while Sooraya silently did some filing. Marie was on the couch, staring out the window. All in all, the office of Domino Investigations was a pretty quiet place.

"Sooraya, take the rest of the day off," I said suddenly. "And put the 'closed' sign up on the door when you leave."

For a second, it looked like Sooraya was going to object - the girl's a hard worker - but then she sensed that we needed some time alone. After bundling up her baby boy, she went home.

With a sigh, I opened my bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a pair of shot glasses.

"What are you thinking?" I asked Marie as I handed her a drink.

"I'm not sure we accomplished much," Marie said. She was holding the glass in both hands, gazing down into it as if it held some important secret.

"We did what our client hired us to do," I pointed out.

"You saw how Betty looked. It's a race to see if she'll die before she has her baby."

"There's nothing we can do about that. And any chance Betty and her baby now have is because Banner is back to work."

"Yeah, they have a chance... assuming one of them doesn't turn into a monster and kill the other - and anyone else who's around."

I made a helpless gesture with the hand holding my shot glass. "As near as I can tell, they were handling their other sides pretty well until Sterns showed up. He kicked over the table, Marie. It was only then that Banner and Betty got dangerous. Hell, if Banner is right about Sterns sabotaging his lab, then Sterns is the guy who started everything. And the violence ended when he did."

Still looking down into her drink, Marie nodded slowly. "Yeah, Sterns was a bad guy. Maybe he even deserved to die the way he did."

I tried not to shudder. "Nobody deserves to die that way."

That sort of killed the conversation. Marie downed her whiskey. I sat down next to her on the couch and poured her another one.

"One other thing," Marie said. Then she paused.

I cocked my head and waited for her to finish.

"When I absorbed her powers, I got a pretty good look inside Emma's head," Marie continued slowly.

Uh-oh.

"She's an arrogant slut who likes to play at being just plain evil," Marie said. Some exasperation was creeping into her voice. "But she also has a lot of guts, and she sticks by her friends, and she can be kind to people who are in trouble. I have to admit that there's more to her than a crazy, stuck-up, skank who likes to spank people."

I couldn't help but smile at Marie's analysis of Emma's character. Actually, it was pretty close to mine.

"And she really does love you, Dom. It's a strange kind of love, but it's there."

I wiped the smile from my face. "Are you mad?" I asked.

Marie shook her head. "No. We've already had our argument about Emma. I don't see any reason to go over it again, and I know you've been a good girl where she's involved. I just want you to know that now I understand what you see in her. I didn't before."

I tried not to let Marie see my sigh of relief.

Then Marie gave me a mischievous look. "And just to clear the air, I don't think there's anything wrong with a recreational spanking every now and then."

I laughed and kissed her. The kiss lasted for some time.

"Uh... wait a minute," I asked after we separated. "If we ever have a 'recreational spanking', who gets spanked?"

Marie just smiled mysteriously


	5. The Case of the Screaming Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domino is missing and Rogue begins tearing the town apart in order to find her. Emma Frost's lover, Jean Grey, lends a hand. In the process, many a secret is revealed.

THE CASE OF THE SCREAMING SHIP

Dom was missing. And I was trying not to panic.

We were working a divorce case. It wasn't much of a case, and I can't say I like that kind of work, but it paid the bills. However, the job called for a fair amount of surveillance, so we were alternating shifts - Dom had the night and I had the day. We weren't seeing as much of each other as I would have liked, but that was sometimes the nature of the job.

But that morning, when I went to relieve Dom from our hotel-room vantage point, she wasn't there.

I used the hotel phone to call the office.

Sooraya answered. She's our secretary.

"Yes, Miss Marie?" she asked. I've told her to just call me Marie maybe a dozen times, but Sooraya wouldn't do it. She's pretty old-fashioned.

"Have you heard from Dom?" I shot back, not bothering with pleasantries.

"No. Is something wrong?"

"She's not here. Did you see her yesterday?"

"Miss Domino was in here yesterday evening, just before she was supposed to start her turn on watch. She took a phone call and then she left."

"Do you remember anything about the phone call?" I asked.

"I answered the phone," Sooraya said tensely. "It was a man's voice - not young and he sounded nervous. He said he wanted to speak to Neena Thurman and I gave Miss Domino the phone."

That was possibly useful. Not a lot of people knew Domino's real name. She doesn't use it very often.

"What did Dom say?"

"Almost nothing. She listened for a while - perhaps a minute. Then she said she would look into it, hung up, and left the office. She didn't say anything to me, but I was busy with my typing."

I paused, thinking over what Sooraya had told me.

"I'm sorry. I should have paid more attention," Sooraya added. She was obviously worried.

"It's all right, Sooraya. I'll ask around. Maybe she got side-tracked and forgot to call in."

I didn't believe my own reassuring words. Dom may seem reckless if you don't know her very well, but she's actually very careful about the things she has control over. In all the time I've known her, she's never just vanished.

* * *

I made a series of phone calls, checking out various places where Dom might be.

The answer was the same everywhere I called. Nobody had seen Dom. Nobody knew where she was.

I called another PI and had her take over the divorce case for us. As far as I was concerned, the only thing I was going to be investigating was Dom's disappearance.

Then I picked up the phone one more time. I have a very, very powerful friend. His name is Logan and he's the biggest gang-lord in town. And once upon a time, he and I had been close. He had done favors for me - and Dom - in the past.

The phone was next to my ear and my finger was on the dial. Then I hesitated.

A while back, Domino had gone to Logan and asked for help. A lot of help. So much help that she'd been forced to make a deal with Logan. She promised to someday do a no-questions-asked job for him. She hadn't liked that, because there was no telling what Logan might ask her - us - to do.

So what if Logan wasn't the solution to Dom's disappearance?

What if he was the problem?

I dialed a different phone number. Logan wasn't my only useful connection.

* * *

There was a diner about a mile from the hotel that Logan used for his headquarters. The coffee tended to be a little weak, but the apple pie was really good. When I was a kid, my mom used to take me there. We both liked the place.

I sat down at my usual table. The waitress had been working there for a long time. She recognized me and gave me a smile. She knew my opinion of the coffee so, without bothering to ask, she got me a cup of tea.

A woman walked in the door. I didn't know her, but I did recognize her. She walked over to my table and sat down.

Then the woman sitting across from me changed into someone else. Now she had light blue skin and dark-red hair. She was Raven Darkholme, Logan's bodyguard and one of his way too many bed-partners.

"Hello, sweetie," she said. Then she leaned over and kissed me.

"Hi, mom," I said quietly.

* * *

Nobody knew about Raven and I. Not Logan. Not even Domino.

Maybe my real parents are still alive. Maybe they're dead. But they didn't really matter. After they abandoned me, Raven Darkholme took me in. I'm not saying she was the perfect mother - far from it - but when nobody else was there for me, she was. I won't ever forget that.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Domino is missing," I said.

She didn't say anything.

"Is Dom doing a job for Logan?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No."

"Are you sure?" I pressed.

"As sure as I can be. I'm within a few feet of Logan twenty-four hours a day. I know Logan and Domino have a deal, but he hasn't called in that marker yet."

The she hesitated before going on, her yellow eyes looking into mine. "I spent last night with Logan. Nothing out of the ordinary is going on right now - I know his moods by now."

Yes, my mom is sleeping with the man who was my first lover. In fact, Dom and Logan also used to be together.

One of Logan's street-names is "Wolverine". I understand that nickname goes all that way back to when he was in the Canadian army, back during the Great War. But I think that's the wrong animal. It's more like Logan is a lion. A lion-king, lording over the domain he built with his own strength and ruthlessness, and surrounded by an ever-shifting pride of deadly lionesses. We lady-lions come and go. We tell ourselves that we love Logan, then later on we tell ourselves that we're better off to be free of him. But that last part is a lie.

You're never really free of Logan.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly.

"What happened?" my mom asked.

"Dom went into the office yesterday evening and took a phone call. Then she told our secretary that she had to go check on something. We haven't heard from her since."

"Did you two have a fight?" she asked carefully. Raven didn't quite approve of Dom - she'd rather I date someone with money and a penis - but she's always said I was old enough to make my own mistakes. We usually avoided the subject of Dom.

"No."

"Are you working on anything?"

"A divorce case. A dentist is stepping out on his wife. All we're doing is surveillance. There's nothing about the case that's dangerous or even interesting."

My mom frowned and sat back in her chair. I could tell by the expression on her face that she was about to say something I didn't particularly want to hear.

"Honey... Dom has irritated a lot of dangerous people over the years," she said slowly.

I nodded. "I know."

She didn't say anything more, and I was grateful for that. Dom is an independent operator who's rubbed shoulders with most of the big-shots of this city. The list of people she's pissed off at one time or another is impressive. It was the kind of record that could easily result in a person simply vanishing one day, never to be seen again.

Not only might Dom be gone forever, but I might never even know what happened to her. Things like that happen in this city.

"I'll keep my ears open. And I'll ask a few questions," Raven promised.

"Thanks, mom," I said gratefully.

Then she frowned. "You know, come to think of it, there is someone you might want to talk to..."

She paused.

"Who?" I asked eagerly.

"Kitty," my mom said slowly. "Kitty Pryde. I heard her asking questions about the Santini family just the other day."

The Santini's were the mob family that used to run this town before Logan showed up. Logan's takeover had been hellishly brutal. Some of the stories from those days are pretty ugly. I joined Logan's gang a few years after the takeover and I noticed that some very tough people in Logan's gang didn't like to talk about the things they'd done in those days.

"What does that have to do with Dom?" I asked.

My mom pursed her lips. "Maybe nothing. But Dom helped Logan take down the Santini family."

Huh?

"You didn't know about that?" my mom asked me. She didn't really sound that surprised.

"No. How was Dom involved?"

"Well... not a lot of people talk about it, and it was before I joined up with Logan, but the way I heard the story, Dom infiltrated the Santini family and gave Logan a lot of useful information."

That didn't sound quite right. Yeah, I knew Dom has done work for Logan every now and then over the years, but Dom never said anything to me about the Santini family or being involved in Logan's takeover of the city.

* * *

Kitty worked nights and slept during the day, but I didn't care. I just banged on her door until she finally opened it.

Of course, the first thing she did was point a gun at my head.

"What the FUCK do you want?!" she snarled.

Kitty's a small and slender woman with curly brown hair and dark-brown eyes. At the moment, all she was wearing was a dirty and ragged men's t-shirt that hung down to mid-thigh. It was so tattered that one of her nipples was exposed.

Kitty was arguably the biggest nut in Logan's crew - a crazy and violent loose-cannon. Nobody liked her, and if you were smart you were scared of her. One of the biggest questions people kept asking about Logan was why he tolerated Kitty.

While I couldn't say with a straight face that Kitty and I were friends - Kitty doesn't have any friends - I'd always been able to talk to her. I was depending on that.

"I need help," I said.

Kitty hesitated. Then she took her finger off the trigger of the handgun.

* * *

"This better be good," Kitty said as she carelessly tossed her pistol onto the kitchen table. Then she reached into the cupboard and pulled out a bottle and a couple of glasses. As she stretched up to the cupboard, the t-shirt she was wearing rode up enough to reveal the lower quarter of her bare ass.

She poured us both a couple of fingers of rye and handed me one of the glasses.

"Dom's missing," I said.

Kitty didn't say anything. She just took a long, deliberate drink from her glass. She and Dom have a lot of bad history, and Kitty usually came off the worst in their exchanges. She wasn't used to that.

"What do you know about the Santini family?" I asked. There was no point in beating around the bush.

Kitty blinked and then collapsed into a rickety wooden chair. "For God's sake, Rogue, what the hell are you talking about? You roll me out of bed and tell me that your bitch girlfriend is missing. Then you ask me about ancient history? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"There might be a connection between Dom's disappearance and the Santini family."

Actually, I had no reason in the world to believe that. I was just going with my mom's gut notion that it was odd that Dom had gone missing just a day or so after Kitty had said something about some "ancient history" that also happened to involve Dom.

Kitty shrugged, "Alphonso Santini is back in town."

"Who the heck is Alphonso Santini?" I asked tiredly.

"He was his family's chief enforcer. He scared people. He hurt people. He killed people. You might say he was a people-person."

Then Kitty giggled in that crazy way of hers. It didn't help that the way she was sitting - with her ankles crossed, her knees slightly open, and her t-shirt riding up on her hips - was giving me the kind of no-imagination-required peep-show that normally cost two-bits in some of this town's seamier bars. Sometimes I wondered just how much of Kitty's "I'm-crazy" routine is real and how much of it is an act, but at the moment she was coming across as a slutty lunatic.

"Why would he be back in town?" I asked. "Logan killed most of the Santini family. I'd steer well clear if I were him."

Kitty made a disgusted face. "Maybe he's stupid. Or suicidal. Or looking for something."

"Looking for what?"

Smiling into her drink, Kitty said, "Who knows? A girl. Revenge. Money. There's been talk for years that there was a Santini stash that we never found. A big one - something like a hundred gees."

A hundred thousand dollars was serious money. It was more than enough to set a man up for life. Or give him the operating capital he needed to build something big.

"How did you hear that Alphonso was back in town?" I asked.

"There's a guy named Sylvester who used to run numbers for the Santini's. The cops thinks he's one of their informers, but I basically own his ass. He was small fry, and Logan let guys like him go after we took over. But he knew Alphonso by sight. And he swore to me that Alphonso was back in town."

"Do you trust this Sylvester guy?" I asked.

Kitty giggled again. "The trick is to kick Sylvester in the balls until he begs for permission to lick your shoes clean. After that, you can pretty much trust whatever he says."

Kitty has these spells where she seems to be even crazier than normal. And, lucky me, she seemed to be sliding into one of them as we spoke.

"Is there a connection between Alphonso and Dom?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and level.

"Yep."

I waited, but Kitty didn't say anything. And there was a smirk on her face.

"C'mon, Kitty," I said evenly.

"Secrets," Kitty said, her eyes now brighter and wilder than normal, and her smile cocked to one side. "There are so many secrets in this town. Ask me to tell you a secret, Rogue."

I finished my drink and put my glass on the table with a sigh. "Okay, I'll play. Tell me a secret, Kitty."

"I love Logan. I love him, but he doesn't love me. Not they way he loves you. Or his two pet killers. Or that bitch you sleep with."

I shook my head, "That's not a secret, Kitty. I've always known that. So tell me a real secret."

Kitty gave me a long and dangerous look. "I've been with Logan for a long time. In the beginning, it was just me and him. We came to this city together. That was after he freed me."

"Freed you?" I said slowly.

Kitty nodded. "Yes. You see, once upon a time..."

She paused. "Do you mind if I tell the story like a fairy tale?"

I waved a hand at nothing in particular. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," Kitty said with a happy grin. "I like fairy tales."

Then Kitty took a deep breath and began.

"Once upon a time, there was a princess. Not a beautiful princess, but still a princess. And she lived in the magical city of Chicago with her mommy and daddy. And she was happy there."

Kitty paused and looked at me expectantly, waiting for something from me. I just nodded my head. That seemed to satisfy her.

"But the princess was different," she continued. "She could do things that other people couldn't do. Unfortunately, she was very young and very foolish and didn't know she should hide the fact that she was different. And that was why men came from the north to steal her away. They wanted her because she was different. The men of the north killed her mommy and daddy. Then they took the princess far north to their fortress of iron and snow."

Kitty paused and took another sip from her glass. "Am I going too fast?" she asked.

"No," I said quietly.

Kitty nodded and went on. "And in the fortress there were cruel guards and evil doctors - doctors with knives and needles and electricity. They made the princess take off all of her clothes, and they shaved her head, and then they did things to her with their knives and needles and electricity. The princess was very sad."

My stomach began to turn over.

"That went on for a long and terrible time. But then a not-very-handsome knight in not-very-shiny armor and with three very sharp swords in each hand came to the fortress of iron and snow. He killed the doctors and he rescued the princess. But by then it was too late. Way too late. Something was broken in the princess and it couldn't be fixed."

Kitty ground to a halt, staring out at nothing for a long moment.

"She was broken and she couldn't be fixed," Kitty whispered.

Kitty took a deep breath and finished her drink. Then she said in a completely normal voice, "So, you see, Rogue, I've been around longer than most people know. I've seen things and I know things. And I know why Domino would like to meet Alphonso."

"Why?" I asked.

"Alphonso Santini murdered Domino's husband."

* * *

It was no secret to me that Dom used to be married. Her husband's name had been Milo, and he was years dead and gone. However, I didn't know much more than that. Since that was a part of her past that Dom obviously didn't want to discuss, I let it go.

I was beginning to regret that decision.

"I'm going back to bed," Kitty said with a yawn. Whatever had overtaken her over a few minutes ago now seemed to be gone. Kitty was as close to normal as she was going to get.

I got to my feet.

"My bed's big enough for two," Kitty said absently, "and I always thought you were cute."

"Thanks," I said as politely as I could. It wasn't the first time Kitty had made that offer. "But I really need to find Dom."

Kitty mumbled a tired and indistinct reply as she stumbled back to her bedroom.

* * *

I used a pay-phone to call Sooraya. She was camped out at the office.

There was still no word from Dom.

"I questioned everyone in the neighborhood," Sooraya said. "Mac at the newspaper stand saw Miss Domino get into her car and drive away. Mac said she was heading towards the docks."

That was solid information. Mac was sweet on Dom, so he kept an eye on her.

* * *

It was late afternoon when I arrived at Emma Frost's apartment building. Emma is a powerful psychic. She's also a friend of Dom's. Personally, I didn't think much of Emma, but since this was about Dom, I was willing to bet that she would help.

The doorman recognized me and let me pass without any trouble. Dom and I had visited Emma more than once.

Jean Grey opened the door of Emma's apartment. She's Emma's live-in girlfriend. Jean is a tall, green-eyed, and red-haired girl that Dom calls "heart-attack beautiful". That's actually a pretty accurate description. At the moment, Jean was dressed in a short robe of expensive-looking gray silk, and nothing else. So far, it seemed to be my day for talking to women who were wearing minimal clothes. Normally that would be fun, but it was turning out to be a bad day.

Dom thought there was more to the story of Emma and Jean than a couple of girls in the top one percent of the beauty bracket enjoying each other's company. According to Dom, Emma thought there was something dangerous about Jean Grey. Something that Emma had to keep an eye on. Emma calls it the Phoenix and I had no clue what that was supposed to be about.

Well, if you had to keep tabs on someone, it might was well be one of the most beautiful women in town. The fact that Jean was sleeping with Emma made for a nice bonus. It's funny how things are always so easy for Emma. I suppose the millions of dollars, the ice-queen looks, and the psychic powers all helped.

On the other hand, my experience with Jean suggested that she was a decent person. She just had a problem with her taste in women, but I suppose I really couldn't hold that against her. We all have our weak spots.

"Emma isn't here," Jean said as she stepped out of the way and let me into the apartment. "She's out of town on Frost Enterprises business. She won't be back for at least a week."

The apartment was huge and was decorated in the art-deco style that was such a rage. I couldn't even hazard a guess what the furnishings cost. Or how much Emma paid in rent. I was sure that those kinds of numbers were meaningless unless you happened to study astronomy.

"Dammit," I fumed.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked.

"Dom's missing. I was hoping that Emma could track her down."

"That would be tricky in the city," Jean said thoughtfully. "There are a lot of people and that throws up psychic interference."

"I hate to admit it, but Emma's pretty good."

Jean smiled. "And so am I. Can you narrow down Dom's location?"

I thought about what Sooraya had told me. "How about the dockside part of town?"

Jean nodded her head and said, "That's something to work with. I can give it a try, but I'll need your help."

"Anything you need," I promised.

Jean hesitated before she went on. "I don't know Domino as well as you or Emma, but I need to have a strong psychic impression of her to work with. Do you understand what that means?"

"You'll have to get inside my head and find the part of me that's about Dom."

She nodded as she looked at me closely. "Are you okay with that?"

I shook my head. "Dom might be in trouble. This isn't the time to be worried about privacy."

Jean sighed. "I hope you feel the same way a few minutes from now."

* * *

Jean sat down in an easy chair. She had me sit on the floor, between her bare feet. Then she tangled her fingers in my hair, pressing her fingertips against my scalp.

There was a time when that would have been a really dangerous. I didn't always have the control over my power that I have now. Back in those days, if I touched someone else - accidentally or deliberately - it would knock them flat and fill my head with their thoughts.

I'm not a psychic like Jean or Emma, but one of the things I do when I touch someone is see some or all of their memories. And that also happens whenever I touch someone to absorb their powers. Back during the case with Doctor Banner and his wife, I had to copy Emma's powers. Which meant I knew more about Emma than she probably liked.

Suddenly, everything seemed to drift away, as Jean began to work her way into my mind.

_We were in a memory I had taken from Emma. Emma and Jean were in the back of Emma's limousine. They had polished off some really expensive champagne at a local club and were both in the "silly-giggling" stage of being drunk. That was apparently also the "clothing-optional" stage of being drunk. Their chauffeur was getting quite of a show..._

*Oh...* Jean said in a small, embarrassed voice.

*Sorry,* I whispered. Then I realized that neither one of us had really said anything out loud. We were psychically linked.

_We shifted again, but we ended up in another of Emma's memories. Dom was naked and her hands were cuffed behind her back. She was kneeling on a concrete floor and secured to it by a length of chain around her neck. The scene - cruel and strikingly erotic - was starkly lit by a single bulb that hung from the ceiling. A coldly smiling Emma crouched down next to Dom, yanked her head back, and then kissed her hard. Meanwhile, Emma's white-gloved hand slid slowly down the length of Dom's nude body..._

*Let's move on,* I suggested very hastily.

*Uhm... right!* Jean replied.

_I was in Logan's small and sparsely furnished bedroom. It was night, but the window was open and the room was illuminated by the reflected light of the city, as cool night drove away the heat of the day. Logan and I were in bed, our bodies straining against each other. It was the same bed Dom used to share with Logan. Someday, Raven would be in that bed as well..._

I flinched away from the thought of Logan and Raven together. Jean sensed that something was wrong and wordlessly began to pull us both away. But before we moved on, I could feel her strong attraction to Logan.

_Logan and I were still making love. But then what we saw shifted from my memory to Jean's desire. Suddenly, it wasn't me in bed with Logan. It was Jean..._

*Oh, blast it,* Jean said. I couldn't see the blush on her face, but I could feel it.

*Don't be embarrassed,* I replied. *Just about every woman wonders about him.*

*Is it worth the risk of getting close to him? He's had - has - so many women in his life...*

*There isn't a simple answer. I'm sorry, it's hard to explain.*

Without specifically replying, I knew Jean was considering my words.

Suddenly, the visions turned ugly.

_A gas-filled room. Charles Xavier was already unconscious. Confused and terrified, Jean tried to hold her breath as she dragged Xavier to safety, but the gas got to her and she began to choke..._

Jean shivered and hugged me closer, her legs suddenly clenching around my middle.

I put my hands on her bare knees and said reassuringly, *It's okay. You're safe now.*

_Maria Hill had turned into... something. A thing of fire and bones and evil. And she was killing Dom - strangling the life out of her. Nothing was working, so I used my powers. I touched Hill and... and..._

My entire body jerked as my mind flinched away from that memory. I wouldn't remember what I had seen in the transformed Maria Hill. I didn't dare remember.

*Easy,* Jean said softly as she steered us away. *Think about Dom. We're here for Dom.*

I tried to focus on some of my fondest memories of me and Dom together.

_That first night together. We talked for hours - and then went back to my place and made love. Dom was so nervous and that was both funny and charming. She'd never been with a woman before..._

_A quiet moment in the office. Dom was writing a report for a client on a legal pad. I filled her coffee cup, shook my head at her look of intense and angry concentration - she hates to write - and kissed her on the top of her head. She blinked in surprise and then smiled up at me..._

_We were taking a bath together in the tiny tub of my old apartment. Dom closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure as I slowly slid a bar of soap over her body..._

_Dom had been too much for those Inner Circle mercenaries to handle. I called in the cavalry and we found her at the end of a trail of bodies. The look that filled her eyes when she saw it was me..._

_It was early in the morning and we were on a stakeout. Hours and hours of sitting in a car and doing nothing was excruciatingly boring, but Dom was always able to handle it . She was being so serious and focused and professional - which meant that the only reasonable response was to take off my clothes. It was the first time I'd done that to Dom and she was completely, comically, surprised..._

_It was our first Christmas together. We had just started the business and were having a tough time finding clients. Both of us were broke. Dom gave me a worn, but serviceable, switchblade. I tried not to laugh because Dom didn't see anything at all odd about what she had given me..._

*I can feel her. She's alive,* Jean said suddenly.

I snapped back to reality, suddenly aware that I was still sitting at Jean's feet, with her legs around me and her hands in my hair. My hands had moved up from her knees and where slowly stroking her warm, smooth, thighs. I stopped. That sort of psychic connection was extremely personal. It could easily take you in directions that you wanted to go, but shouldn't go.

"Alive?" I gasped. I was disoriented and confused and aroused by my memories of Dom and my close proximity to Jean, and it took me a second to understand what Jean was saying.

"Dom's alive, but she's hurt," Jean said, trying to concentrate on what she'd seen. "She's in a building just off the river. There's a warehouse across the street that has a sign. It says 'South Seas Freight and Storage'."

I jumped to my feet and bolted for the door. Well... actually I stumbled to my feet and lurched for the door.

"Wait! I'll come with you!" Jean called. I stopped. Yeah, I had to find Dom, but having a world-class psychic for backup was worth the delay. Besides, I needed a few seconds to recover from my session with Jean.

Jean ran into another room, dropping her robe to the floor as she went. I caught a glimpse of her slim pale body and had to force myself to look away. Within seconds, she was back. She was wearing riding pants and carrying a pair of shoes in one hand, while awkwardly trying to button her blouse with the other hand. As we rode the elevator down to the lobby, I finished buttoning her shirt as she jammed her shoes onto her feet.

* * *

Once we were in my car, I drove like a madwoman and we got to the docks in record time. At the docks, I questioned some locals, handing out a few bucks to speed up the process. We found the warehouse Jean had seen in her vision pretty quickly.

"Over there," Jean said, pointing to a dilapidated building across from the warehouse. The building had a sign that proclaimed it to be the offices of "Santini Imports", but it definitely didn't look like the business was a going concern. Most of the windows were boarded up and there was "For Sale" sign nailed to the door.

Jean stared at the building.

"Damn it," she said after a few seconds. She was obviously worried.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"She's in bad shape."

I could feel cold panic rising inside of me. I pulled my six-gun out of my purse and got out of the car. A passing drunk blinked owlishly at me - and my gun - and then immediately turned around and went back the way he had come.

The door to Santini Imports was locked. I aimed my gun at the lock and began to pull back the hammer, but Jean quickly grabbed my wrist.

The lock clicked and the door opened itself.

I didn't know that Jean was also a mind-mover. But that wasn't really an issue at the moment.

"Up there," Jean said thoughtfully as she scanned the top of the building. She pointed to the only window on the second floor that wasn't boarded up.

The interior of the building was empty. All of the furniture had been moved. The walls were decaying and a cloud of dust followed us as we moved from room to room. In the disturbed dust, we could see signs that someone else had been in the building recently.

Upstairs, in the room that Jean had pointed out, we found Dom and Alphonso Santini. Santini was dead. Dom was unconscious and barely breathing. Santini had been shot twice - once in his chest and again in the head. Either shot would have killed him, but the wound to his head had taken away a big part of Santini's skull. Dom had three slugs in her - one in her side and two more in her right arm. The only reason she hadn't bled out was because she'd managed to tear strips from her shirt and stuff them into her wounds. I think a normal person would have died anyway, but Dom is unnaturally tough.

All of a sudden, I was cold as ice. There was no time to panic. I had to make all of the right moves and I had to make them quickly.

I tossed my car keys to Jean. "Get the car and park it right up against the building entrance," I told her.

She nodded jerkily and left the room. Jean was holding it together, but she wasn't used to the kind of bloodshed she was seeing now.

I tucked Dom's .45 automatic and Santini's .38 into my purse. I carefully pocketed the two spent cartridges from Dom's gun. Gritting my teeth, I used a knife to extract the two .45 slugs - the one that was still in Santini and the other from the wall behind him. Then I quickly patted down Santini's corpse. There wasn't a lot to be found, but I emptied his pockets anyway.

Then I picked up Dom and carefully carried her downstairs. She didn't make a sound. That was when the tight control I'd been keeping on myself began to break down. By the time I got to the door, my eyes were blurry with tears.

Jean had the car's back-door open. I carefully put Dom in the backseat.

"You stay with her," Jean said. "I'll drive. Where's the nearest hospital?"

I shook my head. "Take us to Logan's place."

* * *

There was a damn good reason not to go to a hospital - a man was dead and I didn't really want to deal with the cops. And besides, Logan's outfit kept some pretty good doctors on retainer.

Sam Guthrie and Danni Moonstar were guarding the lobby when Jean and I carried Dom inside. Hank McCoy - Logan's second-in-command - happened to be there as well. Hank didn't ask any questions. He just had us put Dom on a cot in the hotel office and then quickly called in a doctor. Meanwhile, Sam and Danni brought a startling amount of hospital-quality medical equipment and supplies into the office.

The doctor arrived quickly. He was an elderly gentleman carrying a black bag and dressed in a manner that was forty years out of style. He immediately threw us all out of the office and went to work on Dom.

Hank escorted Jean and I into the hotel's mostly-unused bar and poured us a drink.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

"Dom got into a shoot-out with Alphonso Santini," I said.

The shot-glass that was half-way to Hank's mouth stopped in midair. Then he put it back on the table.

"What kind of shape is Santini in?" he asked carefully.

"The 'dead' kind of shape," I responded with a shrug. "His body is in the old Santini Imports building down by the docks."

"If this was anyone else, I'd say Dom was collecting on the contract we put out on Santini." Hank said slowly. "But since it was Dom, I presume she was finally settling things with him?"

I think I blinked in surprise. "You guys had a hit out on Santini?"

Hank nodded. "We heard he was back in town. It took Logan all of five seconds to decide that Santini wouldn't get to leave town alive. We put the word out just this evening that we wanted Santini out of the picture. Dom has five gees coming her way."

I shook my head. "I don't think Dom will take the money."

Hank smiled. "Maybe. See if you can talk some sense into her when she wakes up."

I gave Hank a long look. "You said something about it being personal between Dom and Santini."

He nodded. "They've got a history. Did Dom ever tell you about her husband and Santini?"

"I don't know the details."

Hank shifted deeper into his chair, staring thoughtfully out into the distance.

"Back before Logan took over, Dom spent quite a few years working for the government as an investigator. Some people say she worked for the Army. Others said it was the State Department. Whichever it was, she eventually got tired of it, quit, and moved here. Which is where she met Milo."

I nodded. I knew all of this.

"What Milo did for a living is kind of hard to describe," Hank continued. "He analyzed things. He looked at patterns in international trade, the stock market, military budgets, political party platforms, elections - that sort of thing - and then made predictions of what was going to happen in the future. And he was apparently pretty good at it. He made a lot of money working for stockbrokers, companies, banks, and the government. Hell, if he was still around, I'd try to put him on our payroll. And he eventually became important enough that he needed a bodyguard."

"Dom," I said.

Hank nodded. "She spent two months guarding him... and the next thing you know, they were married. I never met Milo, but everything I hear says he was a good guy. He and Dom were happy together, but it didn't last long."

"What happened?"

With a sigh, Hank finally picked up his shot of whiskey and downed it. "It was one of those damned things. There was a guy who owed the Santini family some money, but wasn't paying. The decision was made to make an example of him. A pair of buttonmen - including Alphonso Santini - got the nod to kill him, but they did a sloppy job of marking their target. They got Milo instead of the guy they were actually looking for."

"Oh, for God's sake," I said disgustedly.

"Yeah. That was a good example of how old man Santini and his people did things. Shoot first and ask questions later. And if you got the wrong guy... well, just keep on shooting until you did get the right guy. There was a reason the Santini family lasted for so long, but fell so hard. Everyone was terrified of them."

I gave Hank a long look. "And nobody is scared of Logan?"

Hank didn't take what I'd said personally. "Yeah, but when's the last time you heard of us killing the wrong guy? A guy who wasn't a player, but who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? For that matter, how often do we kill anyone? People fear us because of what we'll do if you cross us - not because we're borderline crazy and fulltime murderous. And that's actually good business on our part. In the end, the Santini family had a lot of enemies and no allies. Everyone wanted old man Santini and his people gone. You would be surprised at who helped us take him down."

Then Hank became more subdued. "And one of those people was Dom."

I nodded slowly. That certainly fit with what I knew about Dom. Hurt someone important to her and you're in big trouble.

"We were a small organization at the time, but Logan already had the idea of taking over the town. Betsy was giving us a lot of useful information, but she still wasn't used to her abilities. We needed to get somebody on the inside of the Santini family. That's the sort of job we would have Raven do nowadays, but she wasn't with us back then. Eventually, Dom contacted us and volunteered for the job - I still don't know how she figured out what he were up to. The number two man in the Santini family was Michael Santini. Dom got... uh..."

Then the big bad gangster suddenly got flustered at the thought of offending delicate little me. Hank can be such a doofus sometimes.

"Dom got close to Michael Santini and spread her legs for him," I said dryly. "Then - like most men - he turned his brain off and became a huge blabbermouth because he wanted to impress his new girl. Quit treating me like a kid, Hank."

Hank shot me a dirty look. "Anyway, Dom began feeding us information that was all but priceless. We had Betsy expand on what Dom was sending us. Within a few weeks, we knew old man Santini's organization better than he did."

"That was when we moved. We took over in a matter of days," Hank finished.

"But Alphonso got away," I added.

Hank nodded. "He was lucky. He just happened to be out of town when the takeover happened. Then he buried himself deep. We couldn't find him. And neither could Dom."

I stared at Hank for a long moment. "Tell me the rest, Hank."

He gave me a sharp look.

"I mean it, Hank. You aren't telling me everything. Tell me the rest."

Hank stared into his drink for a second. "You don't want to know the rest."

"Maybe I need to know," I shot back. "Dom's flat on her back with three bullet-holes in her and I don't think I have all of the picture. There's something more going on here."

Hank downed his drink and refilled our glasses. "Before Dom infiltrated the Santini gang, she got Logan to make her a promise. Logan promised that we would capture as many of the Santini wiseguys as possible. Then Dom would decide how they died."

Something tightened up inside of me. An inner voice told me to tell Hank to stop talking, but I shut it down.

Hank's eyes were distant now, as he looked into a past he didn't particularly want to remember. "The night after we took over, we locked the Santini guys into the hold of an old cargo ship and set out to sea."

A distracted smile flickered across Hank's face, and then vanished. "Try to imagine this, Marie. Imagine Logan asking Dom to show mercy to someone. It was the closest I've ever seen Logan come to begging. And it wasn't just about giving the Santini boys a break. What Dom wanted us to do was bad. It meant crossing a line that, once you've crossed it, you couldn't ever come back from. I think Logan was actually worried about Dom - worried about what she might turn into because of what we were about to do."

"What did you do?" I asked quietly.

"We set fires fore and aft on the ship. Then we got on the tug that was our escort and put some distance between us and the ship. But we didn't leave - Dom wouldn't let us. She wanted to watch. It took quite a while for the ship to burn. And all the while the Santini's screamed as they cooked alive."

* * *

I couldn't leave the hotel until I knew that Dom was okay. I offered to let Jean take my car and drive back to her apartment, but she turned me down. We ended up in the lobby, curled up in a pair of leather easy chairs, with a bottle on the table between us. I was getting drunk. Jean didn't say anything. She just watched me with worried eyes.

Logan walked into the hotel. Raven and Yuriko were escorting him. As always, mom and I didn't react to each other's presence. Our relationship is a secret that nobody else needs to know.

Logan looked at me. Then he looked at Jean. Then he frowned at the dangerously depleted bottle that was on the table between us.

Logan sat down in the chair opposite me and grabbed the bottle. He drank directly from it, draining a fair amount of what was left. Yuriko, in a kimono and full geisha makeup, stood behind Logan's chair. Raven was off to the side, watching the door.

"How's Dom?" Logan asked me.

"Hurt bad. She's lost a lot of blood," I said sullenly.

"I hear she got in a shootout with Alphonso Santini."

I nodded my head and reached for the bottle. Logan picked it up and put it on the floor next to him.

"Dammit, Logan," I tried to snarl at him. It sounded pretty weak, even to me.

"You've had enough," he said firmly. Jean, sitting beside Logan, nodded in agreement.

I leaned back in my chair. Tired, drunk, scared, and pissed off was a bad combination and it was turning me into a bitch. I was searching for something to say to Logan that would hurt him. Which was a stupid and unnecessary thing to do to a man who was helping me, but that was the mood I was in.

Before I could say anything, Jean touched me on my shoulder. And I fell asleep.

* * *

It was a moon-lit night, and off in the wave-tossed distance, a ship was burning. And as it burned, the ship screamed in mortal agony...

I woke up from the nightmare, gasping for breath. I was in the hotel office. Someone had undressed me and tucked me into a cot just like the one on which Dom was resting. Dom looked better, but her arm and torso were heavily bandaged. She was getting a transfusion.

Raven... mom... was sitting in a chair next to me, reading a newspaper. She heard me stir and looked at me.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hi," I said. "How's Dom?"

She shrugged and put down the paper. "Doc Whimbley kept saying that she should have died. Then he went on a long ramble about a pet theory of his - that mutants are just plain tougher than normal folks. In the end, he said she'd live."

I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was one in the morning. Then I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the cot. I was in my underwear. My clothes were neatly piled on a folding chair that was next to my cot. Standing up, I began to get dressed.

"Is Jean still around?" I asked. "Before I see her, I have to make up my mind if I'm going to thank her or kick her ass for knocking me out."

Raven smiled slightly. "Off hand, I'd say she did the right thing. Sam drove her back to her place."

"And what is our lord and master up to? Excuse me, what is your lord and master up to?"

"He's in bed."

"With who?"

"Tonight is Yuriko's night," Raven said with a shrug.

I rolled my eyes as I stood on one foot, and then the other, to put on my high-heels.

My mom sighed, "Marie, I don't expect you to understand. But at least try not to be rude. We have a system. It works. And you're not in a position to judge people who aren't playing by the normal rules of society."

"Okay. Okay. It's not like Logan and I weren't together once upon a time. What anyone else does with him is none of my business. It's just that..."

I suddenly wasn't sure what to say.

"It's just that he still isn't completely out of your system?" Raven suggested.

"I'm done with Logan," I told her. You know how you sometimes say things that are both true and not quite true? That was one of them.

My mom didn't say anything.

Kneeling next to Dom, I brushed the hair from her forehead and kissed her. She shifted slightly and a tiny smile appeared on her lips for just a second. I knew then that she was going to make it.

* * *

I was pretty sure that I still didn't have the full story. Yeah, Dom had finally settled her long-standing debt with the now-deceased-and-burning-in-hell Alphonso Santini, but there were still some nagging questions. Why had Santini come back to town? And why hadn't Dom called me in when she went gunning for Santini?

Something wasn't right. And ever since Dom made me into a private eye, I couldn't quite let things go that didn't make sense. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to have much in the way of leads.

Then I remembered the stuff I'd taken from Santini's pockets.

I sat down in the hotel lobby and pulled from my purse what I'd taken from the late Alphonso Santini.

At first, it was nothing much. A wallet with some cash and an out-of-state driver's license for 'Albert Santori', a pocket comb, some loose change, and a pack of cigarettes and some matches.

It was the book of matches that surprised me.

* * *

Remy's is a nightclub on the edge of town. The guy who ran it - a fellow named Remy LeBeau - has quite a flair for keeping his guests entertained. The music is great, the whiskey's unwatered, the gambling tables are honest, and the floorshows are fantastic. If you could afford it, Remy's was the place to be seen in this town. It was definitely not the place you would go if you were someone who wanted to keep his presence in town a secret.

Yet Santini had been carrying a book of matches from Remy's.

I wasn't dressed for a visit to Remy's, but Danni Moonstar - one of Logan's people - came through for me. She let me use her makeup kit and then loaned me a dress. It was a bit tight around the chest, but at least now I wouldn't walk into Remy's looking like a bedraggled alley-cat.

Once I was ready to go, I thanked Danni and walked downstairs.

Jean was waiting for me in the lobby. She was dressed to the nines in a long, black evening-gown. She looked absolutely amazing. And suddenly I felt like an alley-cat again.

"Maybe you should give up on college and go to Hollywood," I grumbled.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked with the easy self-confidence of a woman used to people making any kind of allowances for her actions.

"Yes," I replied.

"Sorry, but I thought it was necessary. Why don't you let me make it up to you? I'll buy the drinks at Remy's."

Sam was standing behind the lobby counter. I shot him a dirty look. He just shrugged and pointed upstairs.

"Logan was kind enough to give me a call and suggest you might need a date tonight," Jean continued.

"Logan should learn how to mind his own damned business," I said hotly.

Jean just laughed. "You're not really mad at me. And you're not really mad at Logan. And you could use my help in sorting things out at Remy's."

I sighed, "You psychics are all instruments of the devil."

Jean raised a perfect eyebrow at me. "I didn't have to use psychic powers to figure any of that out, Marie."

I shook my head, "Okay, you can come along. One good thing - with you dressed like that nobody will be paying attention to me."

She smiled impishly and took my arm in hers. "Really? You obviously don't realize what that dress is doing for your cleavage."

* * *

Remy's didn't really have a closing hour. Generally speaking, the party went on until the last few drunks were finally tossed into cabs and sent home. So despite the early morning hour, the place was still hopping when Jean and I arrived.

In the lobby, Jean and I checked our coats with a girl who was wearing nothing but a bunch of strategically placed feathers. Then a buxom hostess wearing a feminine-cut tuxedo gave us a dazzling smile and held the inner door open for us.

"Welcome to Remy's!" she said with a broad smile.

In a blast of noise, Jean and I walked inside.

The first few seconds in Remy's can be disorienting. What with the music, the conversation, the flickering lights, the dancing... well, there's a lot going on.

Jean suddenly grabbed my hand - hard - and froze. I put an arm around her and carefully steered her off to the side and away from the door.

*Sorry,* Jean "said" to me telepathically. *I've never been here before, and it's bigger than I thought it would be. All of the people in here hit me pretty hard. I'm okay now.*

"You're sure?"

Jean glanced past me and said, *Head's up. You have an admirer on the way.*

I put a smile on my face and turned to face Remy LeBeau.

* * *

"Ladies..." Remy said with a smile that was all Cajun charm and male horniness. Then he actually kissed our hands.

"Hi, Remy," I said. "How's it going?"

"Things are looking much better now that two such beautiful women have chosen to grace my place of business with their presence."

Yeah, he says stuff like that all the time. The amazing thing is that he actually pulls it off. It's the accent, I think.

Then Remy took us both by the arms and escorted us to a table that a harried-looking waiter was quickly clearing off. The table had a great view of the band and the dance-floor. We also had a good view of the side stages that were on the dance-floor's perimeter. On each of them a pretty girl was dancing. They were wearing very nice hats and elegant high heels - and nothing else.

"I... could never do something like that," Jean said to me as she tried not to stare at the hot-eyed brunette on the closest stage. The dancer wasn't making any bones of the fact that she was pretty interested in Jean.

Remy chuckled.

"You get used to it," I said absent-mindedly. Jean gave me a long and surprised look. Score one for the alley-cat.

Remy held our chairs for us as we sat down. It was then that I realized that I was still holding Jean's hand. I let go instantly. What the heck was I doing?

A bottle of fairly expensive champagne appeared on our table and the waiter expertly filled a pair of fluted glasses.

*Remy really wants you,* Jean telepathed to me.

*Remy really wants anyone with a vagina,* I responded. Jean managed to keep a straight face.

"You're over-doing it," I told Remy.

He laughed. "I have an image to protect, Marie. To not act like a love-stricken buffoon when two women like you enter? That's unthinkable. Just remember to act at least a little flattered."

"Sounds like a deal," Jean said cheerfully.

"Actually, I have a question for you," I said before Remy could say something charming and witty and then drift away.

"What do you need, cher?" Remy asked.

"Alphonso Santini was in here recently. Did you see him?"

Remy didn't react, he just answered the question. "Yes. He was here the night before last."

"What did he want?"

"We didn't talk, but..."

"But..." I prodded.

Remy's strange eyes met mine. "He was obviously looking for someone. Why else would he risk revealing himself?"

"Did he find who he was looking for?"

"I think so."

"Who was it?"

This time, Remy hesitated for a brief moment before answering. "Sylvester the Rat."

Something clicked into place in my head.

* * *

Jean sipped champagne as she used telepathy on the wait-staff. None of them knew Alphonso Santini by sight, but they definitely knew Sylvester - he was crappy tipper. But what Jean "saw" confirmed that a fellow who looked like Santini had spent some time talking to Sylvester two nights ago.

"What now?"

I gave Jean a hard and angry look. "Now I track down Sylvester and beat some answers out of him."

Jean winced. "If you want answers, I can get them a lot easier."

"Your way is less satisfying," I growled.

* * *

Once we got back to my car, I suddenly realized that Jean and I were holding hands again. And I had no idea who had started that. And I realized that the idea of touching Jean was... comfortable.

That wasn't right. I jerked my hand away from Jean's. My girlfriend had three bullet-holes in her body. She'd almost died. And I couldn't seem to keep my hands off a red-headed cutie.

I tried to conceal how flustered I was by fumbling my car-keys out of my purse.

"Marie, it's okay," Jean said calmly.

"No, it's not," I said, not daring to look her in the eyes as I opened the car door.

Jean reached past me and gently closed the car door. I took a deep breath and turned to face her.

Our faces were so close. It was all I could do not to lean over and kiss her.

I closed my eyes. Dear God, what was wrong with me?

"It's not you," Jean said. "You're not betraying Dom. It's that psychic exchange we had earlier. That sort of thing is pretty intimate under normal circumstances, but that one had us sharing some very personal memories and desires. It had an effect on you - and on me. We just have to acknowledge that this is happening, but that it isn't real. It will eventually wear off and we'll be fine."

I thought that over. Then I nodded slowly.

* * *

We rousted Sylvester out of bed. At first he objected, but I gained his cooperation by putting a gun between his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked in a suddenly high-pitched voice.

I didn't bother to say anything. I just nodded to Jean.

With a faint look of disgust on her face, Jean pulled what we needed out of Sylvester.

"He's a go-between," Jean told me. "He's been carrying messages between Santini and someone in Logan's gang."

"Who?" I asked.

Jean gave me a worried look. "Kitty Pryde."

I'd already guessed that, but now I knew it.

* * *

Normally, Kitty has a route she works for Logan. She goes from place to place, picking up Logan's share of the receipts from his brothels, gambling dens, and bars. It's a simple enough task and suited to Kitty because nobody is crazy enough to cheat her. People still talked in horrified whispers about the first, last, and only guy who'd tried that. Kitty merged his head with a wall.

We found out pretty quick that Kitty wasn't working her route. So we immediately went to her apartment. I made Jean promise to stay in the car. She didn't like that, but she agreed.

The sun was rising as I walked back into Kitty's apartment building. I had my revolver in my hand.

Once I got to Kitty's door, I didn't knock. I just opened it.

Kitty was dressed to travel. She was standing next to the kitchen table, a purse and a pair of small suitcases were on the floor next to her feet.

There was a young fellow with Kitty. At first I thought he was a boy, but then I realized he was just a little on the short side. He had badly combed straw-yellow hair and there was something oddly distant and flat in his blue eyes. He was sort of handsome, but there was a vacant emptiness in his face that was disturbing.

"It's rude not to knock," Kitty said, giving me her trademark crazy smile.

Then Kitty reached for her jacket pocket. She pulled out a five dollar bill and dropped it on the table.

The guy standing next to Kitty blinked slowly and stepped back - as if he was a second or two behind us and had suddenly realized that something was wrong.

"The manager is going to need that to clean up the blood," Kitty explained to me.

Then a thin fighting dagger appeared in her hand and she lunged for me.

* * *

Kitty uses her power to phase in and out of reality when she's in a fight. She tries to be desolid when attacked, solid when attacking. It's a good trick, but it's not perfect. For one thing, a close-in fight isn't a neat and easy exchange of alternating attacks. And besides, I was familiar with Kitty's fighting style.

I didn't bother shooting as Kitty closed with me - she was intangible. Then she got so close to me that I couldn't aim my gun, turned solid, and thrust at me with her knife.

I deliberately stepped into Kitty's attack and parried with my right arm. I hissed in pain as I took a nasty cut on my forearm, but I ignored it and used my other hand to grab Kitty by the wrist, before she could slip into intangibility.

And just like that, I won the fight.

Kitty stumbled away from me, shaking her head to clear it as I duplicated her power. I ferociously shut down the transfer of Kitty's deeper memories. I suspected it wouldn't be a good idea to put too much of a crazy woman inside of my head.

Kitty realized she was in trouble and grabbed for the young guy. After she caught him by the hand, they dropped through the floor.

Saying something extremely unladylike, I turned desolid and followed her.

Kitty and the other guy were sprinting for the street, running through walls, closed doors, and the occasional startled neighbor. I followed, but I was more careful. There was really no point to hurrying.

Jean was waiting outside.

By the time I got there, Kitty was lying unconscious on the sidewalk. Her friend was kneeling next to her, cradling her head in his hands and whispering sounds to her that weren't words.

* * *

There was a bandage crusted with dried blood around my right forearm. The cut Kitty gave me throbbed and burned. I was going to need stitches, but at the moment I didn't have the time.

Betsy woke Kitty up. And the momentary look of panic that filled Kitty's eyes made me smile.

She was handcuffed to a rusty iron chair and she had one of those damned collars around her neck. Kitty wasn't going anywhere. As long as the collar was on, she couldn't use her powers.

The young guy who I'd found with Kitty was next to her, cuffed into another chair. He also had a collar around his neck, although I'd yet to see any sign that he had powers. He didn't say anything as he curiously looked around at his surroundings. By now, it was pretty obvious that he wasn't completely right in the head.

We were in a dockside warehouse that Logan owns. It's where Logan keeps people that he's really not happy with. The warehouse is isolated and has easy access to the harbor - or the sea, if you really wanted to make sure that a body didn't float to shore.

Sometimes, Kitty was the person who supervised the prisoners in the warehouse. If that happened, it meant that Logan was really, really, unhappy with the prisoner in question. Kitty likes hurting people. A while back, Emma spent a day and a night in Kitty's clutches. I have those memories in my head, but I keep them carefully locked down. I may not like Emma, but I don't hate her.

Betsy is Logan's psychic. She's good, but probably not as good as Jean or Emma. And right now she was obviously nervous and upset.

Logan tilted Betsy's chin up and looked her in the eyes. "It's okay," he said.

Betsy looked at Kitty - and then looked at Logan again.

"Go wait at the end of the dock. I'll call you if I need you," Logan said gently.

Betsy nodded. Then, without a word, she walked out of the warehouse.

By then Kitty had herself under control. I had to give her credit for guts. Aside from the blond guy, the only people in the warehouse with her were Logan, Raven, Yuriko, and me. Not Hank, or Scott, or Ororo, or Warren, or Bobby, or Kurt. In fact, none of the people in the organization who went way back and might feel some loyalty for Kitty. It was just Logan and three women who didn't particularly care if Kitty lived or died.

Kitty gave me a disgusted, hate-filled look. "You bitch. You couldn't just kill me. You had to do this."

"Yes," I said evenly. "Now explain everything to your knight in not-so-shiny armor."

Logan gave me a strange look, then he turned his attention back at Kitty.

"Jimmy, I didn't have a choice," Kitty said softly.

Yuriko and I stirred slightly when Kitty called Logan "Jimmy". We knew we'd just bumped into some kind of secret.

My mom didn't react at all. That was interesting.

"Kitty, tell me what you did," Logan ordered.

Kitty sighed, "Remember the story about that Santini stash we never found? The hundred gees?"

Logan nodded, "It was just a story."

"It's not just a story. Alphonso Santini gave me a call. He wanted the money and he wanted me to get it for him."

Logan didn't say anything. It was impossible for me to read what was going on in his eyes. They were flat and lifeless. Some men break down that way. You don't see anything external. It's all inside. I once saw a man right after he was told that his daughter had died in a car accident. Logan's eyes looked like that.

"Why would Santini trust you to do that?"

Kitty jerked her head to the guy in the next chair. "Don't you recognize him, Logan? Santini had him. He said he'd trade him for the money. And he'd kill him if I didn't play ball."

Logan frowned at the guy in the chair. Then he leaned closer and took a deep sniff. It's an animal-like thing that I've seen Logan do more than once. A familiar scent can trigger his memory when sight and sound have failed him.

"Doug Ramsey..." Logan said in startled recognition. "He's not a kid anymore. I thought he was still in Canada."

"Santini snatched Doug from that home we left him in," Kitty said. "God knows how Santini found out about him."

Logan's eyes shifted back to Kitty. "Spell it out."

Kitty took a deep breath and began. "Like I said: Santini used Doug to make me cooperate. He told me where the money was - it was in a long-term safety deposit box. It wasn't under Santini's name, so he couldn't get to it. But I could. And I did."

Logan nodded. Because of her ability to become intangible, Kitty is a superb thief.

"I met Santini and gave him the money. Then Santini changed the deal. He said I worked for him now. He said if I didn't cooperate, or if I called in anyone from the organization, he'd have Doug killed."

Logan nodded again.

"I needed time to track down Doug, so I told Santini that I'd work for him. He had a plan to siphon off some of the proceeds that I collected. It was a stupid plan. I told Santini that Bobby would notice a shortage and check it out. But Santini was full of himself - he thought he was a bigshot now - and he was sure I was just trying to scare him off from a huge score. He'd decided that the hundred thousand wasn't enough. He wanted to double it before he left town. I swear to God, these Santini bastards think with their fists. No wonder we took them down so easy."

"So you started shorting the receipts," Logan said coldly.

Kitty gave Logan a defiant look. "Starting two days ago. I skimmed ten thousand."

Which meant Kitty was dead. No gang-boss can tolerate having someone in his organization steal from him. And there was only one punishment for that sort of thing.

"Bobby noticed that something was wrong," Logan said. "Hank's checking it out."

"Yeah. I heard he was working on a problem of some kind. Santini's master plan didn't last a week. Idiot."

"How did you find Doug?"

Kitty smiled bitterly. "I did what I've always done for you, Logan. I slipped in and out. I asked questions. I walked into locked rooms. I beat people up until they told me what they knew. Eventually, I found out where Santini had put Doug. It turned out Santini had been running a bluff. He didn't have a crew. He didn't have people watching Doug who would kill him if Santini gave the word - or if Santini disappeared. And if I had the smarts God gave a snail I would have known that. Santini was all over town. People who knew him or knew of him had spotted him. Why would he do something so dangerous if he actually had a gang?"

"Where was Doug?"

"In a boarding house on the other side of the bay. There was a nice widow lady looking after him."

Then Kitty turned her head and glared at me. "Once Doug was safe, I could have fixed everything. I could have killed Santini, got the money back, and squared the receipts. No one would have known what happened. But then Domino fucked everything up. Your patch-eyed twat of a girlfriend found out that Santini was back in town. Then she tracked Santini down and killed him. I found them in that building where Santini was hiding out. I thought they were both dead. Too bad Santini wasn't a better shot."

Everything went hot and red. I slammed a fist into Kitty's face. Something crunched and blood flew. Then I hit her again. I was reaching back to hammer Kitty a third time when someone yanked me back.

Doug was trying to scream, but he was doing it all wrong. He just let out a series of strange gargling noises.

It was Raven who had me. She's stronger than me, a better fighter than me, and she had me in a full-nelson - there wasn't anything I could do to get free. I almost used my power on her, but I stopped myself just in time.

"Easy," she whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stopped struggling.

My second punch had knocked Kitty's chair over. She was laying on her side in a daze. Doug was looking at Kitty in horror and making a high-pitched moaning sound. He was trying to reach over to help her, but the cuffs kept him back.

Logan reached down and hauled Kitty and her chair back up. Then, after a moment's pause, he shoved Kitty's chair next to Doug's. Doug buried his face in her shoulder and started sobbing.

"It's okay, Doug," Kitty slurred after spitting out some blood. "It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you."

"You got it together?" Logan asked me. The look on his face suggested that there was only one acceptable answer.

I nodded. Raven carefully let me go. Blood was darkening the bandage on my arm and was dripping down my hand. I'd opened the wound in my arm again.

Logan turned back to Kitty. "After Dom killed Santini, what did you do?"

"I snagged the hundred gees and walked away," Kitty said - still slurring her words. "I was going to take Doug, and Santini's hundred thousand, and set us up somewhere. I sent the ten thousand that I skimmed from you to the hotel by parcel post. Bobby is probably counting it right now."

Kitty hesitated for a moment, spit out some more blood, and said, "I wasn't just running because of the money I took from you. I've had enough of this. I wanted out."

"Kitty... you could have left whenever you wanted to," Logan sighed.

"And do what?" Kitty yelled angrily. "Wait tables? Work in a library? Become a nurse? Find a nice guy and get married? My head is broken, Logan! I don't fit in anywhere!"

Then tears suddenly appeared in her eyes, "Hell, Jimmy. I don't even fit in with you. So get this over with. Just promise me you'll do it yourself. I don't want one of your bimbos finishing me."

There was a long pause. The only sound was Doug crying.

Logan looked at Raven and Yuriko. Raven was still hovering over my shoulder, just in case. The tips of Yuriko's claws were slightly extended from her fingertips. It would just take a split second for her to rip open Kitty's throat.

"Raven, Yuriko, go wait with Betsy," Logan said. He suddenly sounded tired.

Neither woman said anything as they left the building.

Once they were gone, Logan looked at me.

"I'm calling in my marker. Domino Investigations owes me a job. No questions asked."

You know the phrase, "my blood ran cold"? Until then, I thought it was just some silly words used by pulp writers. Guess what - it's real.

"I'm not killing Kitty for you," I heard myself say.

"Yes, you are," Logan said implacably.

Kitty began to laugh.

* * *

Dom was awake when I got back to the hotel. I crouched down next to her cot and kissed her.

"Best thing that's happened to me all day," she whispered to me.

On the chair were a couple of magazines. The top magazine was about guns and hunting. The magazine underneath it was completely different - it was about hunting and guns.

"Danni was reading to me," Dom said with a faint ghost of a smile.

"The selection seems kind of limited," I said.

"Actually, the spring line of medium-caliber rifles is pretty exhilarating," Dom said thoughtfully.

"Be a good patient and do what the doctor tells you and I'll buy you a top-of-the-line Winchester."

"Deal," she said instantly. "Suckered you into that one."

"That you did," I smiled. "How clever of you."

"I'm the brains of this outfit, Marie. You're the looks. Dear God, you are definitely the looks."

"Funny. You weren't smart enough to call me in for backup when you went after Santini."

Dom's face fell.

"I guess we should talk about that," she said.

"Yes, we should."

Dom looked me in the eyes. "When I heard Santini was back in town, I went out to kill him. Not to talk. Not to take him in to the cops or even give him to Logan. I was going to murder him. I didn't want you to be a part of that."

"What happened?"

She shook her head. "He saw me first and drew on me. He hit me three times before my gun even cleared its holster. Then I got lucky and he had a misfire. I put one shot into his chest. He was beginning to fall when I put the second one through his head. A court would probably decide it was self-defense on my part. But the bottom line is that if I had seen him first, I would have killed him without a second thought."

"Okay," I said as I stroked her hair.

Dom looked at me. Her expression was uncertain.

"Santini was a bad guy," I said slowly and carefully. "The world is better off with him gone. As far as I'm concerned, he got what was coming to him and that's the end of it."

Dom was still looking at me. "That's not all."

"Yes?"

"A long time ago - before this business with Santini. I did something. I did something crazy and terrible that I've never told you about it."

"I know about the ship. Hank told me."

Dom didn't say anything. She just seemed to be closely examining my face.

"Milo must have been a hell of a man," I said with a sad smile.

"He was," Dom said, her eyes suddenly elsewhere. "He was smart, funny, gentle, and devoted. We were going to leave the city and find someplace quiet to live. We were talking about having kids..."

Then Dom focused on me and licked her lips nervously. "I understand if you think differently about me now."

I sighed. "I don't."

Dom's eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"Because when you were missing, I realized that there was nothing I wouldn't do to get you back. And if you had been dead, there's nothing I wouldn't do to whoever killed you. I can't judge you, Dom. I'm just like you."

Dom close her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, she said, "We really should kiss, but I can't move."

I took care of that.

* * *

Kitty's funeral was sparsely attended. She didn't have a family. And she didn't have friends. It was just me, Logan, Raven, Yuriko, and Ororo.

Ororo - God bless her - actually wept for Kitty. That meant the sky also wept.

"Who was in my coffin?" Kitty asked curiously. She was holding hands with Doug as we walked down the pier. He looked excited and happy. Despite the still gloomy weather, Kitty was wearing a broad sun-hat with a dark veil. She also had on a long and graceful dress. Anyone used to Kitty's normal appearance would have never suspected that it was her.

"A Jane Doe," I told her. "She died of a drug overdose in a downtown hotel room. Nobody claimed her body and she couldn't be identified. She was an inch taller than you and maybe a little heavier, but the hair was right. There's a guy Dom knows who lives in the sewers and steam tunnels. He can change a person's appearance. By the time he was done with the body, she looked just like you."

"Never heard of that guy," Kitty said thoughtfully.

"This town has a lot of secrets," I said dryly.

"More than you or I will ever know," Kitty said with a careless shrug of her shoulders.

We got to the gangplank. The ship was headed to Australia. Kitty seemed to be pretty excited about seeing Sydney.

"What will you do?" I asked.

She tapped her suitcase, "Live in luxury on the Santini money. Take care of Doug. See the sights. Maybe find a handsome Aussie who's willing to stick his dick into crazy."

"What?" I asked. I was sure I'd misheard that last part.

Because of the veil, I couldn't clearly see Kitty's face, but I was sure that her scary smile was back. "There's a thing men say to each other: 'never stick your dick in crazy'. It's a warning to not take up with some broad who's over the edge. Maybe I can find a guy who doesn't care about by that rule. And if I can't..."

She reached up and gently touched my face. I fought down the urge to slap her hand away.

"...and if I can't," she continued gently, "I'll just have to diddle myself to sleep every night as I fantasize about skinning you and Dom alive."

"Have a nice trip," I said evenly.

"You mean you aren't hoping for an iceberg?"

I nodded at Doug. "I wouldn't want to see him get hurt."

Kitty laughed as she and Doug turned and began to walk up the stairs. An elderly couple gave her an odd look and edged away. Kitty has a strange and scary laugh.

As I walked away, the ship's steam horn sounded. For a brief moment, it sounded like the screams of men dying in horrible agony.

It was warm, but I shivered anyway.

* * *

Logan and I met in private. Raven and Yuriko gave me calm and dangerous looks as I walked past them and into Logan's office. I wondered how much they knew.

"It's done," I said.

Logan put down his newspaper and leaned back in his chair. I noticed that he was reading the 'Wall Street Journal'. He's an odd guy to figure out.

"Thanks," he said. "When she's feeling better, tell Dom we're square."

"Okay," I said.

I didn't leave.

"Is there something else?" Logan asked.

"What's the deal with you and Kitty and Doug? And why did Kitty keep calling you Jimmy?"

Logan laughed. Then he shook his head and said, "She's done it to you."

"What do you mean?" I asked irritably.

"Dom. She's finally turned you into a PI. Now you just can't rest until you know every damn detail. Secrets and mysteries drive you crazy."

"That's not true!"

"Sure, Marie, sure," he chuckled dismissively.

Then he gave me a calculating look. "You know something... you may be a PI, but I'm a businessman. I'll answer your questions, but I want something in return."

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a long, wary, look. "If it involves me on my knees under your desk, the answer is, 'go to hell'."

He shrugged. "As I recall, there was a time when you didn't mind. In fact, you were flat-out eager."

"Those days are gone. Thank God."

"Are you blushing?"

"No!" I half-yelled.

Then I took a deep breath to regain my composure, "So what do you want from me?"

Logan suddenly got serious, "A promise."

"What kind of promise?" I asked warily.

"If things ever fall through between you and Dom, you'll come back to the organization. You'll work for me for a year. Then, after that year, you can make a decision if you want to stay or go."

That surprised me.

"Things aren't going to fall apart between me and Dom," I told him very flatly.

Logan nodded mildly. "Then it won't hurt you to make that promise. And you'll get what you want for nothing. Sounds like a good deal, doesn't it?"

I stared at him. "Logan, you do a surprisingly good Satan imitation."

"I try my best."

"What is this all about? Why do want me to make that promise?"

He smiled. "Maybe it's part of a master plan where I'll somehow drive you and Dom apart and then trick you back into bed with me. Or maybe I've noticed that the very sharp girl who used to work for me has become an even sharper woman and I want a chance - even if it's a long-shot - of someday getting her back on my side."

I was still staring at him.

"Decision time," he said as he leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. His dark eyes were amused.

I gave him my answer.

* * *

Jean and I met for lunch on the campus where she was going to school. It was amusing to see Jean as an ordinary college-girl after seeing her dressed in full-tilt, eye-popping, evening wear. However, she still managed to turn heads.

"It's not very fancy," Jean said apologetically as we sat down in the cafeteria.

"Are you kidding?" I replied immediately. "I love sloppy joes."

Which is true, by the way. Raven isn't a fancy cook. I grew up on a fairly basic menu.

"How's Dom?" Jean asked.

"A lot better. She heals faster than most folks. That's handy in our line of work."

"And Kitty?"

"Taken care of. I pity Australia. Thanks for the help, by the way."

Jean had run psychic support for me while I was setting things up with Kitty. Ever since we'd been in each other's heads, I knew I could trust her.

"And that... problem... we were having?"

"Well, I think you're cute, but then again I've always thought that. I just don't have the urge to grope you ever time we're next to each other. Does that count as progress?"

"I'd say so," Jean said with smile.

"On the other hand, I did have a dream last night where you, me, and Dom were having drinks together and Emma was our waitress. And when we left, we stiffed her for the tip. Since you're a mistress of the mind, maybe you can tell me what that means?"

Jean's smile turned into a laugh, "Off hand, I'd say it means you don't like Emma. I wish you could get over that."

"I wish I could understand what you see in her. Is it because you're both psychics?"

Jean nodded. "That's part of it. Having other people's thoughts in your head is often a disturbing and ugly thing. There aren't many people who understand that, and it helps to be with someone who does. I really only know two people who I can trust to know what it's like."

I thought that over. "Okay, Emma's obviously one of the two. Who's the other?"

Jean gave me an amused look and said, "You."

Oh.

* * *

When I got back home, Sooraya was there. And she didn't look happy.

"She is impossible," Sooraya told me irritably just before she left.

It was Dom's first day back in our apartment. And she was out of bed. In fact, she was in the kitchen, using a shotgun for a cane as she clumsily tried to make a sandwich. With one arm in a cast, it wasn't easy.

"For God's sake!" I yelled at her.

Dom gave me a guilty look. "Oops," she said.

"Back in bed! Now!"

"Little tyrant," Dom grumped as she limped back into the bedroom.

"So I take Kitty is on her way out of town?" Dom yelled at me from the bedroom as I finished making the sandwich.

"Yes," I yelled back. "And Logan says we're settled with him."

Then I brought the sandwich into the bedroom and put it on the nightstand where Dom could reach it. She was on her back, surrounded by magazines and newspapers.

Dom glowered at me. She's a lousy patient. Dom is just too active of a person to tolerate much inactivity.

"The doc said one week, Dom," I told her. "Just one more week. Then you can go re-injure yourself all you want."

Dom sighed. "A week? How about three days?"

"How about a week?" I suggested.

Dom the drama queen flopped her head back onto her pillow and glared up at the ceiling.

I shook my head and began pulling off Dom's pajama bottoms.

"What now?" she asked irritably. "Sooraya gave me a bath this morning! Which was ridiculous! I can do it myself!"

"No bath," I said as I tossed the bottoms into a corner.

Then I crawled onto the bed with Dom.

"That's a scary smile," she said as she looked at me through suddenly wary - and interested - eyes.

"A week in bed, Dom. A whole week. And I know you're going to be a complete pain in the ass the entire time. So, whatever can I do to make you shut up and cooperate?"

"I've got a few ideas," Dom said slowly.

"Let's talk them over. Just as soon as I've tried some ideas of my own."


	6. The Case of the Lost Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's daughter -- Laura -- hires Domino and Rogue to track down someone who vanished years ago. And for some reason, she's putting a lot of odd conditions on the investigation.
> 
> Then an outfit called AIM becomes a part of the case...

THE CASE OF THE LOST LOVE

When I first met Laura, she tried to kill me - and came pretty close to succeeding. There's a long scar along the length of my right thigh that I'll have for the rest of my life. Laura has never said anything about it to me, but it was obvious that she'd been going for my femoral artery. And she didn't miss by much. If she'd succeeded, I would have probably bled out and died.

That's pretty impressive for a skinny little slip of a girl who's maybe eleven years old.

And now Laura was standing in my apartment. And she was covered in blood. Again.

Laura shoved a double-handful of crumpled currency in my direction. Like her, the bills were also soaked in blood. I took the money with the hand that wasn't holding a .45 automatic - I admit that I tend to get a little tense when someone bangs on my door in the middle of the night.

"I want to hire you," Laura said. Her strange green eyes met mine. She's a tiny girl, with long dark hair, pale skin, and a slender face. Someday, she's going to be a heart-stopping beauty.

"Laura," I responded slowly as I carefully looked her over. "Is any of that blood actually yours?"

Laura was wearing a knee-length dress that used to be white with blue trim. At the moment, it was mostly brownish-red. More dried blood was matted into her hair and smeared on her face. Her hands and bare feet were almost completely covered as well.

Laura frowned slightly. I think she thought my question was trivial.

"No," she replied.

"Did you kill somebody?"

"Some kidnappers, but that's not important. I want to hire you to..."

"Bath," Marie interrupted firmly. Marie is my partner and girlfriend. All she was wearing was a pair of men's pajama tops. I had the bottoms. That's how we usually slept. I'd grabbed a gun and pulled on a robe - in that order - before answering the door.

Laura frowned at me again. The conversation was really not going as she'd expected.

"Into the bathroom, young lady," Marie said sternly, holding her hand out to Laura.

Laura sighed and took Marie's hand. Don't ask me why, but Laura defers to Marie.

While Marie pulled Laura into the bathroom, I walked into the kitchen, dumped the blood-soaked money into the sink, and ran the faucet. It turned out to be five hundred dollars in newly-issued twenties. I dropped the soggy mass of bills into the dish rack.

Laura was now naked and sitting in our bathtub. Her dress and underpants was soaking in the sink. She seemed a bit put out, but she was cooperating.

Marie had rinsed Laura off until the worst of the dried blood was gone. Then Marie plugged the drain and the tub began to fill with hot water. Laura absent-mindedly wiggled her toes. Some dried blood that had been caught between them came loose and disintegrated in the bath water.

"The kidnappers you killed. How many of them were there?" I asked.

"Three," Laura said calmly.

"Laura, do you remember the talk we had about killing people?"

"Which one?"

"Any of them! You can't just go around slaughtering anyone you're unhappy with!"

Laura shrugged. "They were going to kill the boy they'd kidnapped. You and Logan have told me that sometimes you have to kill to save lives. That's what I did."

Then Laura closed her eyes and smiled blissfully as Marie began working shampoo into her hair. The shampoo turned red.

I let out a defeated sigh. "Do the cops know about it?" I asked.

"They should," Laura purred - she was obviously enjoying the shampoo. "They were trying to break down the door when I left. There must have been a patrol car somewhere nearby when all the shooting started."

Marie gave me an alarmed glance. I think I gulped.

"Did you hurt any police officers?" I asked nervously.

Laura shook her head. "No. Logan said I should never do that. It's bad for business."

Okay, that was a relief. The cops in this town are generally corrupt, stupid, brutal, and incompetent, but there are a few who actually try to do their jobs. And all of the cops - the few who are good and the many who are bad - tend to become very, very focused if a fellow officer was killed or injured.

Oh, and by the way, the Logan that Laura kept mentioning is the biggest gang-boss in the city. He's her dad.

"Do the police know you're the one who killed the kidnappers?"

"No. They never saw me."

I didn't doubt that. Not being seen is something Laura does well.

"Are you absolutely sure that the men you killed were actually kidnappers?" I asked.

"Yes. They had a boy named Tommy with them. He's a neighbor and he's nice. His parents paid two thousand dollars to get him back."

Marie and I exchanged glances. The Thomas Oberlin kidnapping had been in the newspapers for the last two days. I had a pretty good idea what tomorrow's headlines were going to look like.

A thought occurred to me. "Laura, the money you gave me... was that part of Tommy's ransom money?"

"Yes, Tommy said I could keep some of it. He also promised not to tell the police about me."

"How did you get involved in this in the first place?" I asked plaintively.

"I know Tommy. He and his parents live just down the street from where I live. So when he was kidnapped, I decided to go look for him."

I gave Laura a long look. "How did you find him?"

"I followed Tommy's scent from his house. Then the kidnappers put him in a truck and I lost him. But the truck had been used to transport cleaning supplies - it had a distinctive scent of its own. I was able to follow it across town, to an old house where the kidnappers were keeping Tommy. I heard them say that they were going to kill Tommy because he had seen their faces. So I stopped them."

I tiredly rubbed the bridge of my nose. So far, it had been a fairly typical conversation with Laura - somewhere between alarming and exasperating.

"You said you want to hire us?" Marie asked curiously. She was still washing Laura's hair.

Laura opened her eyes and gave us an approving smile. I guess we were finally done with silly questions and getting with the program.

"Yes," Laura said eagerly. "I want you to find someone. His name is Josh. Josh Foley."

* * *

Laura was sitting at our kitchen table. She was wearing one of Marie's old robes - it looked like a tent on her - and her wet hair was neatly brushed. Marie put a cup of cocoa in front of Laura. Laura smiled briefly at Marie and, for a split-second, she was just a little girl. You had to know her to realize that she was also an incredibly dangerous little girl.

"Who's Josh Foley?" I asked.

Laura took another sip from her cocoa. "He was a slave of the Egyptian."

I grimaced. The Egyptian was dead, but he used to be the worst gang-lord in this city - deeply tangled up in the ugliest vices and crimes that could be imagined. He was the most powerful mind-controller that anyone had ever seen, and had existed by psychically feeding off the suffering of others. That was a bad combination. The people under the Egyptian's control lived a helpless life of nigh-constant misery and degradation.

When we first ran into Laura, she and the girl who eventually became our secretary - Sooraya Qadir - were on the run from the Egyptian. Sooraya is a Muslim girl from Afghanistan. The story is long and characteristically bloody, but Laura was the one who broke Sooraya loose from the Egyptian's control. When Marie and I first encountered Sooraya, she had been about four months pregnant. Since then, she's had her baby, who's a fine and healthy boy.

There are things you don't ask, or even think about, if you can help it. Sooraya was maybe sixteen when we met her. By then, the Egyptian had been selling her body for years.

I didn't like the math.

I've done things in my life that I'm not proud of, but I'm also one of the people who finally ended the Egyptian. I hope that counts for something when I'm at the pearly gates, having that long, long talk with Saint Peter.

"Did you know this Foley guy?" I asked.

Laura shook her head.

"Why do you want us to track him down?" I asked.

"That's not important."

"Did Sooraya know him?" Marie asked.

"Yes," Laura replied. "However, I don't want Sooraya to know about your investigation."

"Why?" I continued.

"She wouldn't like it."

I thought about that for a few seconds. Then I asked, "What do you know about Foley?"

"He's American and is between seventeen or eighteen years old. He's slender and has blond hair and blue eyes. He vanished after we killed the Egyptian."

"Is Foley from around here? Or is he an out-of-towner?"

Laura shook her head. "I don't know."

I was silent for a long moment. I'm the boss of Domino Investigations. I make the final call whether or not we take a case. And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have taken this one. The client obviously had secrets and was giving us some odd conditions on how we were to do our job. That was a combination sure to result in trouble.

"Okay, you've hired us," I said. Marie gave me a quick look, but didn't say anything. Then she put a cup of cocoa in front of me and sat down.

Laura seemed pleased.

"But we do have to get you home," I added.

That made Laura frown, "Really? I want to help you."

Marie and I both cringed at the thought of Laura "helping" us. About the best we could hope for was that the number of corpses would only be in the single digits.

"You may have hired us, but we do things our way," I told Laura firmly. "And that means we work on our own without the boss looking over our shoulders."

Laura took a slow and thoughtful sip from her cocoa before replying. "Okay. Logan always says you should hire good people and then leave them alone to do their jobs. And he says you two are the best you are at what you do."

I am embarrassed to say that a pre-teen killing-machine quoting her crime-lord father managed to fill me with a certain sense of quiet pride.

"What else does Logan say about us?" Marie asked with an amused expression on her face.

"He says that you're both cute. And you're a lot of trouble. Did you two used to sleep with him?"

I think cocoa actually came out of my nose. I staggered over to the sink (the money was still drying in the dish rack), grabbed a washcloth, and used it to cover my lower face until the coughing fit subsided.

Marie ignored me and reached over to carefully take one of Laura's hands in her own. "Laura - sugar - you're too young to talk about things like that."

Laura shook her head in obvious confusion, "Why? Don't women sometimes talk about men when they're together?"

Marie nodded very seriously. "They sometimes do. But... well... it's strange when one of the women is as young as you are. It's even stranger when the man being talking about is kin."

Laura listened intently, as if Marie were dispensing vast wisdom. Laura isn't good at playing by society's rules. The bastards who raised her hadn't wanted her to be well-adjusted. They wanted her to be an emotionally isolated and socially distant killer. Logan was trying to help her, and Laura was trying her best to learn, but turning her into a real human being was a slow process.

My coughing fit subsided. Wiping cocoa from my face, I sat back down at the table.

"Why the sudden interest in Foley?" I asked hoarsely.

Laura considered my words for some time before answering.

"I can't tell you that," she said finally.

* * *

It was still early enough that we decided not to immediately take Laura home. Instead, we got Laura dried off and dressed in some old clothes, and then bought her breakfast in our favorite diner. Then we dropped her off at the hotel that Logan uses as his headquarters. Laura waved at us just before she walked in the front door.

At the news-stand just outside our office, Marie picked up a newspaper. The headline screamed "KIDNAPPERS SLAUGHTERED, BOY RESCUED". The accompanying article was full of enthusiastically described carnage, but fairly low on actual facts. However, it did say that Thomas Oberlin was back with his family, and that the cops were unsure who had butchered his kidnappers.

And it turned out that the kidnappers were a gang who had been bedeviling cities all along the East Coast for the last year.

"Their M.O. was to always murder the kids they snatched," Marie said angrily.

"I'm not mourning their loss," I told her. "I'm just uncomfortable with Laura being the one who killed them. Maybe she should, y'know graduate high-school, or go on her first date, or maybe even grow a pair of boobs, before she starts deciding who lives and who dies."

"It would be great if she could just have a regular childhood," Marie conceded.

"Logan's daughter? I'm not sure that's possible."

Marie nodded in sad agreement.

"Why are we taking the case?" she asked me.

I shifted uncomfortably. "You know, I'm not sure. Normally I wouldn't get involved in something that seems so sketchy right at the very beginning. But I'm pretty sure that Laura wouldn't ask us to do something like this unless she had a darn good reason."

Marie didn't argue with me.

* * *

"I want you to take the next few days off," I told Sooraya.

For a change, we had actually managed to beat Sooraya to the office. She's an incredibly conscientious employee. Normally, she's there when we show up, with the coffee made and the mail neatly sorted. This time, we were waiting for her when she opened the door. And now she was sitting at her desk, rocking her baby boy in her arms, and not particularly happy with what I had just told her.

"Is something wrong, Miss Domino?" she asked.

I'd already decided to tell Sooraya as much of the truth as possible, while not violating our agreement with Laura. "We've got a case. It has to do with the Egyptian."

Sooraya flinched and clutched her baby close. The Egyptian was long gone and that was the effect that just his name had on her.

"I... I can s... stay," she stuttered. "I'll help."

I shook my head. "Sooraya, we appreciate the offer, but just take a couple of days off. Don't worry, you'll be paid. We'll call you when we're done and you can come back."

Sooraya nodded - I could tell that she was relieved. Then she picked up her purse and diaper bag, put Hassim up on her shoulder, and more-or-less fled the office.

* * *

I spent the next hour making some quiet inquiries over the phone. It turned out that the police didn't have anything that pointed directly to Laura in the death of the kidnappers. In fact...

"The cops think Logan might have been the one who killed the kidnappers," I said after hanging up the phone. Actually, that was a pretty reasonable mistake on their part. Logan and Laura have a markedly similar approach to homicide.

Marie gave me a coldly amused smile. She was curled up on the easy chair, with her feet tucked under her body, flipping through a phonebook and taking notes. Her skirt was riding up enough to reveal a distracting amount of leg.

"In other words - case closed," Marie chuckled.

I nodded. Logan is the prince of the city. Some of the police might not be happy about that, but they had to live with it. In most towns, the cops are the biggest, toughest, meanest gang. Not here. Here, they aren't even close to being top dog.

The phone rang. Marie quickly snatched it up before I could. I don't think she approves of my phone manners.

"Domino Investigations. How may I help you?" she asked politely.

An unhappy, rumbling sound came out of the phone's earpiece.

Marie closed her eyes for a moment. Then she opened them and said, "Okay, Logan."

She ruefully handed me the phone. "It's his highness," she said neutrally. "And he's pissed."

I warily put the phone next to my ear. "What do you want, Logan?"

"The next time Laura is in trouble - any kind of trouble - you come right to me," Logan growled.

"We dropped her off at your place the first thing this morning!" I pointed out.

"Which was hours after she showed up on your doorstep! Which means I didn't have any lead-time to clean up this mess! The next time, you come straight to me. No delays, baths, slumber parties, hair-braiding sessions, or any other sort of girly crap. Understand?"

I felt myself getting mad, "Look, Logan..."

"No," he interrupted. "You forgot something really important, Dom. I'm not Laura's boss. She's not just somebody in my gang. I'm her father. She's my kid. When she's in trouble, I want to know about it immediately."

I hesitated. "Okay, I see your point."

"Good. Now, what's this about Laura hiring you?"

"That's none of your business, Logan. She's a client."

"She's my kid!"

"She's my client!"

The conversation was clearly heading into the, "Screw you! No, screw you!" phase. That's when Marie gently took the phone back from me.

"Do you have something to say, Logan?" she asked. Then she silently listened to Logan's furious response.

"Are you done?" she asked after Logan finally ran out of words.

The reply was short.

"Okay, Logan," Marie replied quietly, but firmly. "Laura hired us to look into something that she thinks is important. If you want the details, you should ask her. And if I decide that there's something about the case that's hinky enough that I should talk to her father, then I will. Look, sugar, it really boils down to this - do you trust us or not?"

There was a pause. And then another short reply.

"Then that settles that," Marie said matter-of-factly. "Is there anything else?"

Yet another short reply.

"Okay. Goodbye," Marie said. Then she hung up the phone, leaned over the desk to give me a quick kiss, went back to her chair, and picked up the phonebook again.

"How do you do that?" I asked plaintively.

Marie looked up and gave me a tiny smile. "You used to buddy-fuck him, Dom. I used to sleep with him. There's a difference."

I really couldn't argue with that.

* * *

We spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon making the obvious checks.

There were several Joshua Foley's or J. Foley's in the phonebook. However, they turned out to be dead ends. A quick check of the available city and county records didn't turn up anything useful. It looked like our target wasn't from around here.

Some of the reporters at the local papers make side-money by doing research for us. They started checking through the newspaper morgues, but since that was usually a long process, we'd have to be patient.

"I'm not sure the legit world has anything to tell us," Marie suggested.

"If Foley was the property of the Egyptian, and was originally from out of town, that's not too surprising," I said.

"So it's time to start talking to bad-guys?" Marie suggested.

I nodded.

* * *

My preferred source for rumors and information on the powered-thug part of the world was a big, friendly galoot named Fred Dukes. Unfortunately, he happened to be out of town. That meant I had to find another source.

"For God's sake, Domino..." Pietro said disgustedly.

Pietro is hard to pin down if he doesn't want to talk. So I have to firm with him. At the moment, we were in his apartment. Pietro was in his big brass bed, covered only by a thin sheet. I was straddling him and had a switchblade up against his throat.

Mortimer - Pietro's boyfriend - was next to him on the bed. He was handcuffed hand and foot to the bed-frame. Unless you count the welts Pietro had put on his back, butt, and thighs with a riding crop, Mortimer was naked.

"Hi, Dom!" Mortimer said to me. Since he was handcuffed face-down, it took an effort to crane his head up to look at me.

"Hey, Mort. How's it going?" I answered, all the while keeping my eyes on Pietro.

"Same old. Same old. How's it with you?"

"Business as usual."

Marie impatiently reached down and slapped Pietro on the side of the head. Even I winced. Marie was not being gentle.

"The keys to Mort's cuffs," Marie demanded. "Where are they?"

Pietro shot her an angry look, but wisely decided to cooperate. "In the nightstand drawer."

Grumbling to herself, Marie got the keys and freed Mortimer.

"Look, Rogue, it's okay," Mortimer protested. "We do this all the time."

"Goddammit, Mortimer! He's using you!" Marie exploded.

Mortimer rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his wrists and ankles, and wincing as his welts on his backside came in contact with the blanket. He was a short and scrawny little guy, but he had a surprisingly well-muscled body.

"Everybody uses other people, Rogue," Mortimer told Marie calmly. "The only question of what both sides get out of it."

Pietro and I frowned at each other in surprise. Mortimer was one of those guys who's been put on this Earth to be used and abused by others. Among other deficiencies, nobody was ever going to think of him as much of an intellect, but what he'd just said was a bit surprising in its depth.

"What you always seem to get is beaten to a pulp!" Marie pointed out.

Mort smiled tiredly at Marie, "C'mon, Rogue. It's great that you care, but... well... I don't judge you and Dom. Maybe you should do the same for me and Pietro?"

Marie sighed distractedly as she expertly cuffed Pietro's hands to the headboard of the bed. "One of these days, Pietro's going to hurt you really bad. You know that, don't you, Mort?"

"It's not like that, Marie," Mortimer said in a surprisingly gentle voice - like he was explaining something awkward about the world of adults to his kid sister.

Marie shook her head in exasperation, grabbed a pillow, and dropped it onto Mortimer's lap. "At least keep the little Mortimer covered up while we're here. And be quiet while we talk to your boyfriend."

Mortimer nodded and - keeping the pillow pressed to his lap - got out of the bed and sat down in a wooden chair in the corner of the bedroom. Meanwhile, Marie finished cuffing Pietro's ankles to the foot of the bed. That left Pietro well-secured, but I didn't bother to get off of him.

"What the hell do you want?" Pietro snarled up at me. His ice-blue eyes were filled with rage.

"I want to talk," I replied.

He shook his head. "Have you considered a phone call? This is getting old, Domino."

Still straddling him, I smiled down at Pietro and rocked my hips slightly. "Pietro, I know for a fact that at least one part of you is enjoying this."

Pietro wasn't wearing anything under the thin sheet that was all that separated his body from mine. You might say that he obviously had a firm interest in our conversation.

Closing his eyes, Pietro took a deep breath. Then he opened them again.

"It's been years since that business down in Mexico," he said as his eyes met mine again. "When are you going to let it go?"

I actually used to work for Pietro. It's a long and embarrassing story that demonstrated a lot of bad judgement on my part. It ended when Pietro abandoned me to die. After shooting it out with what seemed like a fairly big part of the Mexican army, I staggered across the border with a couple of bullets in me. After I healed up, I tracked Pietro down and delivered my resignation in person. You could see the aftermath of that conversation in a scar on Pietro's chin, another just above his right eye, and in the crook of his once-broken nose.

"Tell you what," I said bleakly. "You don't mention Mexico and I won't start cutting off parts of your body. Does that sound like a fair deal?"

Pietro had the common sense to know that he was on dangerous ground. "Okay. Okay. What do you want to know?"

"After the Egyptian died, I know you and some of the other small-timers picked over what Logan and Lehnsherr left of his operation. There was a kid named Josh Foley who was being held prisoner by the Egyptian. He was a teenager with blond hair and blue eyes. Did you happen to run into him?"

Pietro smirked at me in that way of his that pisses me off. "Yeah," he said.

"What happened?" I asked.

Pietro hesitated.

"We sold him," Mortimer said quietly from the other side of the room.

"What?" Marie asked in obvious surprise.

"Foley was one of us - he had powers. A guy was on the lookout for someone like him," Mortimer told Marie. "He gave us a thousand bucks for the kid."

Huh, so Foley had powers. We hadn't know that.

"You sold him," Marie said very flatly, her disapproval was glaringly obvious.

Mortimer couldn't meet her eyes. "I didn't like the idea... but, yeah."

"What's Foley's power?" I asked Pietro.

"He can heal people," Pietro responded shortly. "Cuts, bruises, broken bones - even bullet wounds. He'd look at them, maybe touch them, and they'd heal up in seconds. He could also cure diseases."

"Who bought him?"

Pietro sighed. "A lawyer named Brett Dawson handled the deal, but he wasn't the buyer. He was fronting for someone else."

"Any idea who?"

Pietro shook his head. "No idea. I just wanted the money, so I didn't bother to ask any questions."

None of this was ringing any bells for me. And that bothered me. I like to think I have a pretty good handle on what goes on in this town.

I looked at Marie. She shook her head. This was all new to her as well.

"How did you find out about this Dawson guy?" I asked Pietro.

Pietro shifted uncomfortably. "My father sometimes had dealings with him. Once I took off on my own, I got in contact with Dawson and he gave me a list of things he wanted. Mutants with healing powers were on a list. A year or so later, I heard that the Egyptian had someone who could cure diseases that the doctors couldn't do anything about. He sold Foley's services to the very rich. When you guys took out the Egyptian, we bee-lined to where he kept Foley locked up and grabbed him."

"Where can we find Dawson?"

Pietro laughed. "He died in an electrical accident a few months ago. So you can look for him in one of the hotter parts of hell."

I raised an eyebrow. "An electrical accident?" I repeated.

"Yeah, that struck me as weird, too," Pietro said with a malicious grin. "So, by all means, Dom. Keep investigating."

I ignored that. "How did Dawson pick up Foley?"

"We traded Foley for the money at a truckstop just north of town. Dawson had a couple of tough-guys with him. I didn't recognized them - they were out-of-towners."

* * *

Mortimer was swooshing the riding crop through the air - and Pietro was looking pretty nervous - when we finally left Pietro's apartment.

Hank McCoy is Logan's number-two guy and knows just about everything that goes on in this town. We gave him a quick phone call and asked if he knew anything about a lawyer named Brett Dawson.

"He did some work for us," Hank said thoughtfully. "Dawson was a pretty sharp lawyer, but he was also a guy with expensive tastes. Nothing too strange, just women and gambling. But he was always short of cash and looking for a quick payoff. He worked for us a couple of times, but it was just to keep some of our small fry out of jail. Logan didn't trust the guy so he was never going to get a big money case from us. Eventually Dawson figured that out and moved on."

"Why didn't Logan trust him?" I asked immediately. Logan has scarily good instincts about people. It's one of the reasons he's on the top of the heap in this town.

"He thought Dawson was playing too many angles. He worked for the Santini's back in the old days. And for a while he was doing legal work for us, Lehnsherr, and the Egyptian all at the same time. Logan told me he didn't like how that smelled."

"Did you ever hear about the Egyptian having a healer working for him?"

Hank paused before replying. "Huh... that's quite the subject change, Dom."

"Yes, it is. The healer was a guy named Josh Foley."

"I didn't know his name, but the Egyptian did have a healer. And he was a pretty good one, as I understand. He could do more than just patch up the usual bangs and bruises - he could also heal diseases. The Egyptian rented out his services, but we never had anything to do with that."

That was no surprise. Logan had been adamant about his people keeping their distance from the Egyptian. And I was pretty sure that had been a smart move.

* * *

Some leg work and few more phone calls confirmed that Dawson used to have an office in a fairly fancy office building, and a swanky apartment in one of the flashier parts of town. He died over a year ago in a freak accident involving a downed powerline. The details of his death were sketchy enough that it sounded suspicious. Dawson's office closed down when he died. His secretary had moved out of town and was now living in Denver. He had no family or business partners.

As near as I could tell, that left us with only one immediate option.

"I know what you're thinking. And it's a bad idea," Marie warned me.

"Erik can be reasonable," I countered. "I've talked to him before."

Erik Lehnsherr was Pietro's estranged father. He was also the second biggest ganglord in town - right after Logan. And it was no secret that he devoted every waking hour of his life to figuring out how to take Logan's place. The big ticking time-bomb in this burg is the conflict between Logan and Lehnsherr. Someday it was going to explode and absolutely nobody was looking forward to that day.

Logan and Lehnsherr were a study in contrasts. Logan delegated power and responsibility to his underlings. Lehnsherr ran everything from the top. Logan was wild and feral. Lehnsherr was a formal and old-fashioned kind of man. Logan started his gang on the docks. Lehnsherr first appeared in the business district.

On the other hand, they also had a few things in common. Both were mutants. Both were smart. Both were men that you didn't want to cross. And both had ruthlessly seized the opportunity Prohibition had given them to make truly obscene amounts of money, while simultaneously grabbing lots and lots of power.

I dropped a dime into a payphone and called a number that not too many people know.

* * *

Lehnsherr agreed to meet us, but he imposed a few conditions. Since we were the ones asking for the meeting, we were forced to play ball.

We were going to meet at Mason's, which is arguably the best restaurant in town. However, it's a formal and stuffy kind of place. If you want to get in, you have to dress right.

I hate wearing a dress.

I had on a long black evening gown that Marie got me for my birthday a few years ago. I normally only wear it once or twice a year - and Marie usually has to bribe me with promises of exceptionally exotic sex in order to get me to do even that.

I just hoped that I wouldn't turn an ankle in the high-heels I was wearing. I wasn't used to them, either.

On the other hand, Marie looked amazing. She was wearing a green and yellow number from one of the most popular designers in the city. Heads were turning all around us and the valet who parked our car had a hard time speaking coherently as he stared at her.

"Why the hell do you bother with me?" I asked with an amused shake of my head.

"Don't be silly, Dom. You look great," Marie said. She'd done something with her makeup that I couldn't even begin to duplicate. She looked like an elegant lady who did that sort of thing all the time. I looked like an over-dressed gun-moll who was better with a handgun than with a tube of lipstick. Which was the truth, I suppose.

Once we got inside, the Maitre'de greeted us by name and immediately took us to Lehnsherr's table.

Lehnsherr stood to greet us.

"Domino," he said as he kissed my hand. I suppose it was possible he'd finally gotten over that back-alley incident with the baseball bat. That had been some years back, when I was working for the U.S. government. Lehnsherr was newly arrived in this country - and already on the shady side with the law.

Then Lehnsherr's eyes went to Marie.

"Rogue..." he said quietly, a gentle smile on his face that I'd definitely never seen before.

Marie smiled back at him and then leaned over and kissed Lehnsherr on the cheek.

"Erik, it's so good to see you again," she purred. Her southern accent was suddenly more apparent. That was a sure sign she was putting on the charm. But the warmth in her eyes certainly didn't seem faked.

What the hell?

* * *

"I didn't know you knew one other," I said once we sat down.

Yes, it took some effort on my part to make sure that didn't come out sounding incredibly bitchy.

Actually, it shouldn't have been a surprise that Marie and Lehnsherr were acquainted. Marie had spent a lot of time in Logan's gang. In fact, she used to be a pretty trusted member. So she and Lehnsherr should have run into each other somewhere along the line, but the way they were acting towards each other was surprisingly friendly.

"I used to carry messages between Logan and Erik," Marie explained to me.

Marie was obviously enjoying how surprised and uncomfortable I was. I began to wonder if I could convince Pietro to loan me his riding crop.

Probably not. He'd seemed a bit angry with me when we left his apartment.

"Rogue was one of the few of Logan's miscreants with whom I was willing to talk," Lehnsherr chuckled. "I got in the habit of taking her to dinner when we met. It gave us time to discuss something other than business. I enjoy our time together. I hope she feels the same way."

What was even weirder about this was that the charmingly demure amid mildly flirtatious Marie was also the person who kept reminding me just how dangerous Erik Lehnsherr really was.

Erik ordered wine - we weren't consulted about the choice - as he and Marie chatted about everything from politics to the weather. I added a few comments, but I was very much an outsider in their conversation.

Dinner consisted of game-hens with a sage and parsley glaze, backed up by potatoes and cabbage in some sort of spicy sauce. It was outstanding. Dessert was a cherry cobbler accompanied by an alarmingly dark coffee. It was also excellent. And that was when Lehnsherr finally decided to talk business.

"I understand you have some questions?" he asked.

Marie glanced at me. Obviously, a proper Southern belle wouldn't sully herself with such masculine issues.

"There was a shyster named Dawson," I began. "Before he died, he did some work for you - among other people."

Lehnsherr nodded his head.

"Why would he want a buy a mutant?" I asked.

Lehnsherr paused and then put down his coffee cup. His face was expressionless. I'd just scored some kind of hit.

"A mutant, you say?" Erik said idly.

It was time to be careful in terms of what I said. "Yes. A mutant with healing powers."

Erik shook his head, still trying to act barely interested. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Any idea what he was doing?"

"I'll see what I can find out," Lehnsherr said with a thin smile that was as hard and cold as a diamond at the north pole.

I didn't ask any more questions. I was already worried that I might have given too much away.

* * *

The drive back to our apartment was silent at first. I had a lot going through my mind and Marie read my mood. We had Foley's scent, but I was worried that we wouldn't get much more. He might not even be in the country.

And there was something else.

"Lehnsherr's obviously up to something," I told Marie.

"I know," Marie replied. "The idea of Dawson buying a mutant really bothered him."

"I understand that, but it really seemed to get to him. Why?"

Marie was silent for a while before she answered. "Erik doesn't like the idea of ordinary people using mutants. He thinks that normal folk and mutants won't be able to get along in the long run. He's sure there's going to be a war and that one side won't survive."

Turning her head, Marie looked out the car window at the buildings passing by. I think she didn't want me to see the expression on her face.

"I'm not sure that Erik is wrong about that," she added softly.

"I know," I said slowly. "There are those anti-mutant laws springing up all over Europe - and in some places here in the States. This city is pretty tolerant of our kind. That's why so many of us live here. But it wasn't always that way. There used to be a lot of trouble. Even some lynchings."

Marie turned to face me. There was a strange smile was on her face.

"Say it," she ordered.

"Say what?" I asked.

"Tell me why this dirty, grimy, ugly, vicious city is so willing to live-and-let-live with our kind. Go on, Dom. Say it out loud. I want to hear you finally admit it."

I didn't say anything as we drove a few more blocks. I don't like being put into a corner - even by Marie. But I had to admit that she had a point. It was something I didn't like to talk about. The idea galled me.

But just as I don't like being cornered, I also don't think much of people who won't admit the obvious.

"It's because of Logan," I said quietly. "Logan runs this city. And he makes damn sure that people like us can survive here. He makes sure that the anti-mutant and anti-human nutjobs don't get a foothold here."

Marie smiled and curled up next to me, her eyes bright and eager. I shivered as she pressed her lips against the hollow of my neck.

"Honest girls are good girls. And good girls get rewarded," Marie whispered in my ear as she drew the hem of my dress up over my lap. Then she adeptly hooked my panties all the way down to my knees. Marie is startlingly good at undressing women. She's been doing it a lot longer than I have.

"This isn't a good idea," I warned her desperately as the shoulder straps of my gown slipped off my shoulders. "I'll end up wrecking the car."

Of course, I didn't really mean that. At the moment, there was nothing more important to me in the world than that Marie should keep doing what she was doing.

I gasped as Marie ran her tongue along the outside edge of my ear. Simultaneously, her strong hands began pushing my thighs apart.

"I don't see how that can happen," Marie whispered, her breath intimately warming the side of my face. "After all, Dom, aren't you just so damned lucky?"

By the time I found a safe and out-of-the-way place to park the car, I was naked.

* * *

When we got to the office the next day, I felt a pang when I saw that Sooraya wasn't there. I'd gotten used to her. She was a good kid and a great employee. I even liked her baby - Hassim was a quiet and well-behaved boy.

Before she became my partner, Marie used to be my secretary. Without a hitch, she effortlessly slid back into her early-morning secretarial routine. Making coffee. Sorting the mail. Doing some filing. Giving me a long kiss after putting a cup of coffee and the important mail on my desk...

Okay, Sooraya doesn't do the part with the kissing. That part is reserved for Marie.

"Is there anything else I can do for the boss?" Marie asked quietly. Her tone of voice carried a world of suggestion. How she could still be randy after last night was beyond me.

"You could do some more research on Brett Dawson," I suggested.

Marie gave me a pout and sat down at Sooraya's desk. However, the phone rang before she could begin. Marie picked up the phone and exchanged a few words. Then she quickly reached for a legal pad and began scratching on it with a freshly sharpened pencil.

Since I was momentarily as useless as the proverbial tits on a boar, I kept my mouth shut and sipped my coffee. I tried to do a quick review of possible leads, but my mind kept returning to the highlights from last night. Marie had done her formidable best to make it as spectacular as possible.

Marie finally put down the phone and turned towards me.

"That was our reporter friend at the 'Daily Herald'," she reported. "A Joshua Foley vanished from Buffalo about five years ago. He was twelve years old at the time. There was no ransom note and no indication that he was a runaway. And his description matches what we've been given - blond hair and blue eyes. A picture of Foley is on its way by courier."

I frowned wordlessly. Everything fit, but I'd like to have confirmation that the Josh Foley who vanished from Buffalo five years ago was the one who ended up as the Egyptian's property.

I reached for the phone on my desk.

* * *

Emma Frost is a psychic rich bitch. And maybe I was a little in love with her.

It's a long story.

"Dom," she purred over the phone. Emma's voice is a study in high-class sensuality. And if you were smart, you also noticed the dangerous undertones.

"Hello, Emma," I responded. Still at Sooraya's desk, Marie rolled her eyes. Things are more comfortable between Emma and Marie than they used to be, but Emma still drives Marie a little crazy.

"How's your girlfriend doing?" Emma asked as she simultaneously put a psychic image in my head of Marie dressed in a scanty red dress, leaning up against a dockside lamp-post as she whistled at passing sailors.

"She's fine," I replied, trying my best to keep a straight face.

"How can I help you?" Emma asked. The image in my head shifted to one in which Emma and I were together in a bathtub filled with champagne. Of course, what we were doing to each other in the tub couldn't exactly be described as bathing.

"It's about the Egyptian," I said. And all of a sudden, Emma's psychic game-playing came to an end.

"What is it?," Emma said unhappily.

"Did you ever hear anything about the Egyptian offering the services of a healer? The kind of healer who could do things that a doctor couldn't do?"

Emma sighed. "Yes. The cost was tremendous, but he supposedly had someone who could cure the incurable."

"Do you know anyone who took the Egyptian up on that?"

"Yes."

"I need to talk to them."

Emma seemed to think it over before answering. "I think that might be possible."

* * *

Percy Andrews was a pretty good advertisement for a communist revolution. He was genetically rich, handsome in a vapid kind of way, boundlessly arrogant, spoiled rotten, and smugly self-satisfied.

I don't know what pressure Emma used to get Andrews to meet with us on such short notice, but it worked.

We met him in one of the fancier breakfast places in the Garden district. After we sat down at Andrews' table, a skeptical-looking waitress put menus in front of Marie and I. Marie's eyes went wide when she saw the prices. I didn't even bother to look.

"So you two are private eyes," Andrews marveled at us. Seating next to him was a buxom and pretty brunette who was in full makeup and wearing an expensive Van Dyne dress despite the early hour. I've seen her kind before - a rich man's doxie taking her turn squeezing whatever she could out of a moron with money. She dismissed me immediately as no real rival, but her eyes were cold as she examined Marie.

"Domino Investigations," I said as I dropped a business card on the table in front of Andrews. "I'm Domino. This is my partner, Marie."

"Also known as Rogue," Andrews said with a self-assured smile as he interestedly examined Marie. "A former member of Logan's gang. And once very close to the man himself, from what I've heard."

The brunette blinked in surprise and then tried to cover that by sipping from her glass of breakfast champagne.

"I was hoping you could help us with a case we're working on," I said.

Andrews took some time off from mentally undressing Marie and raised an eyebrow in my direction.

I took a photo of Foley out of my jacket pocket and slid it towards Andrews. The courier from our reporter at the "Daily Herald" had dropped it off just an hour ago. Copies of the picture had been distributed up and down the east-coast when Josh Foley first vanished.

Andrews picked up the picture and examined it disinterestedly. But it seemed to me that something in his eyes shifted.

"I can't say I know him," he said dismissively. He was being a bit too casual.

"Look again," I said, trying to be at least minimally polite. "He was kidnapped five years ago. He's done some growing up since then, so add a few years."

Andrews shook his head and handed my the picture. "Sorry, I have no clue who he is."

"You might have seen him back when he was working for the Egyptian."

Andrews gave me a hard look. Whatever he knew or didn't know, he wasn't going to cooperate. And the fact we were in public set a limit as to how far I could go in talking to him. But it was obvious that he had seen Foley somewhere along the line. That was reasonable confirmation that the Foley we were looking for was the guy who vanished from Buffalo a few years back.

We said our goodbyes.

* * *

Andrews' girl caught up to us on the sidewalk, just before we got into our car.

"Can I see that picture?" she asked hurriedly. She'd been running in high heels and was a little out of breath. Her voice still had a trace of the Boston accent that she'd probably spent years trying to lose.

Without a word, I handed her the picture. She examined it carefully, turning it so the light caught it better.

"His name is Josh," she said. "He's got powers."

"How do you know him?" Marie asked.

The girl made a disgusted face. "Percy picked up a disease - and then gave it to me. It was the kind of thing that doctors can't do much about. Percy paid the Egyptian to have Josh lay hands on us."

There was a trace of almost religious awe in her last few words.

"It worked?" Marie asked.

She nodded.

"Ever hear from Josh after he healed you and Andrews?" I asked.

"No, but you can tell Josh's folks that he was alive at least a year ago. Maybe he's still in town."

I shook my head. "We're not sure about that."

She frowned at that. "Hey, he had a girl with him. Maybe she can help you find him."

"What girl?" I asked.

"An Arab gal. She wore a dumpy black dress and a veil. The only part of her you could see where her hands and eyes. She did have great eyes, though. Look, I gotta get back. I told Percy that I was going to the bathroom. He's going to wonder if I'm gone too long."

"Wait! Did you hear the girl's name?" I heard myself ask - even though I already knew the answer.

The girl frowned, "Josh called her... Sura? Something like that."

"Sooraya?" Marie asked softly.

"Yeah! That's it!"

"Why are you helping us?" I asked.

She gave me a long look and then shook her head. "Josh saved my life. Maybe it ain't much of a life, but it's all I've got."

* * *

The drive back to the office was pretty quiet.

Marie spent most of the ride staring at Josh Foley's picture.

"Once you look for it, you can see the resemblance," she finally said.

I nodded. Sooraya's baby had dark skin - though not as dark as Sooraya's. But you could see Foley around Hassim's eyes and in his chin and mouth.

Josh Foley was the father of Sooraya's baby.

* * *

The door to our office was open. Marie and I entered with guns in our hands.

Our esteemed client was sitting in my chair. She was eating an ice-cream cone.

"I need a progress report," Laura said as she examined us very seriously.

I gritted my teeth for a good ten seconds before answering.

"I need you to get your skinny butt of my chair. And I need to never break into my office again. And I need you to be at least minimally polite when talking to your elders. Not minding all of the above will result in me needing to give you a bare-ass spanking. Understand?"

Laura actually looked alarmed as she got out of my chair. I reclaimed mastery of my office by flopping into my chair.

Marie, on the other hand, gave Laura a hug and a kiss. She really needs to stop reinforcing Laura's bad behavior.

Laura looked pretty flustered. Good.

"We know about Sooraya and Josh," Marie told Laura. "And we know that he's the father of her baby."

Laura frowned. She obviously didn't like that.

I couldn't help but smile grimly. "Laura, we're investigators. Our job is to find things out. You can't control what we'll learn once we go to work."

Laura thought about that, nodded in agreement, and then asked, "Do you know where Josh is?"

"No. He was snatched right after the Egyptian got croaked."

"Any idea who got him?" Laura asked.

"A shady lawyer named Dawson," Marie supplied, "but it sounds like Dawson was working for someone else. We don't know who."

"Tell you what," I told Laura. "Since the cat is out of the bag with Josh and Sooraya, why don't you just tell us what you know?"

Laura thought that over, then nodded.

"The Egyptian was trying to breed mutants," she said.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you should understand what someone is saying, but something about what you'd just heard was so weird or wrong that the words refused to make any sense?

"Breed mutants?" I repeated slowly. What Laura had said just didn't want to come together. The expression on Marie's face was just as puzzled. She was having the same problem I was.

"Like breeding a horse or a dog," Laura explained.

"Wait a minute..." Marie interrupted, "you mean the Egyptian had Sooraya sleep with Josh? So she would have a mutant baby?"

Laura nodded.

"Why?" I demanded. This wasn't making any damned sense.

"For food," Laura answered unhesitatingly.

* * *

The Egyptian had been an evil bastard. In fact, the word 'monster' fit pretty well. It was a terrible fate to be the property of the Egyptian.

Long ago, just before we killed the Egyptian, Sooraya told me that the Egyptian thought that mutants 'tasted better' when he psychically feed from them. So apparently the Egyptian had decided to breed his own food animals.

The thought of a baby in the clutches of the Egyptian made my stomach turn. I was seriously thinking that it was time for a drink.

"What else do you know?" I asked Laura. I was a bit amazed at how calm and sane my voice sounded.

Laura shrugged. "For the last few months she was with the Egyptian, Sooraya didn't work as a whore. Instead, she stayed with Josh. They had a room in the house where the Egyptian lived. The Egyptian made sure they had sex together."

For a long, drawn-out moment, we just stared at Laura.

"Why didn't Sooraya tell us about this?" Marie finally asked.

Laura's response was eerily calm. "She's ashamed. So she tells everyone that she was a prostitute for the Egyptian right until the end. And she doesn't talk about Hassim's father."

Welcome to the world of the Egyptian, where telling people that you were a pocket-change hooker was preferable to the truth that he had been breeding you like an animal.

"She told you what happened," I pointed out.

"She tells me things she doesn't tell anyone else."

"Why do you want us to find Josh?" Marie asked.

Laura paused for a moment, as if putting her thoughts together. "Remember when I told you that I was going to marry Sooraya someday?"

Marie and I both nodded. Laura had said that back when we first found her and Sooraya - she said she was going to take care of both Sooraya and her baby. At the time, it had struck us as a combination of a child's conceit and Laura's lack of knowledge of how the world actually worked. It was both strangely beautiful and strangely sad.

For the first time, Laura seemed uncomfortable. And she couldn't meet our eyes. "I don't think Sooraya wants me to be her husband."

We didn't say anything. It was Laura's show.

Laura looked at her hands and flexed her fingers. For a second, I thought she was going to show us her claws.

"Sooraya likes me. And maybe she loves me. But it's not the way I want it to be. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said quietly. Marie just nodded.

"But Sooraya loves Josh. So I want you to find him. I want Sooraya to be happy."

Marie stirred uneasily. I could tell what was bothering her.

"Laura, are you sure about that?" I asked carefully. "Sooraya would have every reason in the world to associate Josh with something she'd rather forget."

Laura's eerie green eyes met mine.

"I'm sure," Laura said with total certainly.

* * *

Our client was gone. And that left Marie and I alone to discuss where the case was going.

The problem was that the case was hitting a brick wall.

Working a longshot, Marie made a few quick phone inquiries and determined that Joshua Foley wasn't back with his family in Buffalo. That hadn't been likely, but you never know. Sometimes, by random chance as near as I can tell, the universe pukes up good news.

"Everything is dead-ending with Brett Dawson," I told Marie. "He's the guy who bought Josh, but it's no secret that Dawson was fronting for someone else. But after Dawson and a pair of goons picked up Josh, the trail goes cold."

"And it's a good bet that Josh isn't even in town any more," Marie suggested.

I nodded. "Nobody has heard anything about a currently available mutant healer-for-hire. Also, Pietro didn't recognize the muscle who was with Dawson when they picked up Josh. Whatever else you might want to say about him, Pietro does know all of the thugs, losers, and low-lifes in this town. So they weren't from around here. Which means that Josh is unlikely to still be in the city."

"What about talking to Xavier?" Marie suggested. "He has some trick for tracking mutants."

I shook my head. "The one time Xavier did that for us, he had problems because he was searching the entire city. If we go to him for help, we'll be asking him to search the eastern seaboard. Or the entire damned continent."

Marie hesitated before making her next suggestion. "The Tinman?"

I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. We didn't really know the limits of what Doc Strange could do, but...

"Not yet," I said slowly.

Marie nodded. I could see the relief in her eyes.

I drummed my fingers on my desk, trying to think of some angle we could pursue.

"I think we're out of luck," I told Marie. She nodded her head regretfully.

Then the phone rang.

Marie met my eyes. Then she shook her head, got up, and walked over to the coffeepot. She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "If you can't be good, you might as well be lucky."

"It's not like I can control it!" I growled in her direction.

"Just answer the darn phone!" Marie snarled as she refreshed her coffee cup.

* * *

It was Emma.

"How's your case going?" she asked. Her voice was dangerously nonchalant.

"What the hell are you up to, Emma?" I asked bluntly.

Emma sighed. "I have something for you. But we had better talk about it in person. When can we meet?"

"Now," I shot back.

I could almost see her smile. The impression of quick kiss on my forehead appeared in my mind.

* * *

Emma hadn't been in our office for quite some time. In fact, she'd only been there once before - back when we first met. She had walked in the door and told me quite a few pretty, pretty, lies. I almost died chasing Emma's lies.

Then, a little while later, it was Emma's turn to find her life hanging by a thread. I saved Emma. And that was after the part where she stripped me naked, chained me to a concrete floor, used me like a cheap whore, and made me like it.

Like I said, our relationship is kind of complex.

Emma ignored Marie and smiled at me. Then she gestured to the man who was with her.

"I believe you have already met," Emma said with a smile that bordered on the wicked.

Tony Stark grinned at us. "Hello, ladies. It's good to see you again."

* * *

Stark is the real deal. He was a pilot, an adventurer, a genius, an inventor, and a world-renowned businessman. He was what guys like Andrews liked to pretend they are. Andrews was more or less just playing with grandpa's money, fiddling around the edges and making more money as long as he let compound interest do the work and didn't actually try anything on his own. Meanwhile, Stark was taking what he'd inherited and making it into an empire that was going to change the world.

He was also one hell of a handsome man. And the arrogant bastard knew it.

Marie and I once did a job that involved Stark and another ridiculously rich guy named Wayne. By the time it was over, everyone involved had agreed it would be best to keep it a secret. That was how we knew Tony Stark.

I frowned skeptically at Emma and Stark. "So what do two of the richest people on the Eastern seaboard want with a pair of gumshoes?"

"We're here to save your lives," Stark said calmly.

Marie and I exchanged a long look.

"You've stumbled onto something big," Emma added. "Something very dangerous."

Marie smiled. I think I managed not to do the same.

"I mean it," Emma said as anger flashed in her eyes. "This could easily get worse than that business with Doctor Banner."

Marie's smile vanished. My eyes narrowed as I closely examined Emma's face. The Banner case had been spectacularly ugly.

Stark spoke up. "That lawyer you've been asking about. Brett Dawson? He worked for an outfit called Amalgamated International Mechanics. Those who've heard of them just call them AIM. And they are really bad news."

"I've never heard of them," I said slowly.

Stark's face was grim. "They're an American-European organization of scientists. Although 'mad scientists' might be a better way of putting it. They're the people to go to if you want to buy a death ray, or a radiation bomb, or an airplane that flies faster than anything the RAF or the Liftoff currently has in the sky. And you want to stay the hell away from them, Domino."

"They're that bad?"

Stark nodded. "Worse. AIM is more than a little crazy, but they aren't a bunch of kooky professors bumbling around the laboratory. They kill people who get in their way - and they're good at it."

"How do you know about them?" Marie asked.

"I'm an industrialist, ladies. Remember? And Stark Industries builds everything from warships to toasters. If I have a design that's on the edge of current technology, then AIM wants to steal it. If you live in my world, then you know about AIM. Emma is in the same boat."

Emma just nodded grimly.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us this sooner?" I asked Emma.

"I wasn't sure! I had to talk to Tony and confirm that what was going on was actually about AIM! And you certainly wouldn't have listened to me if I'd asked you to put the case on hold!"

Well... she was right about the last part.

Stark spoke up again. "We've always known that AIM has an interest in this town. We thought it was limited to the Frost Enterprises research division, and the Stark Industries shipyard and aircraft manufacturing plant on Independence island. But it turns out that there's a third target that we're only now becoming aware of - the large number of mutants who live in this town."

"Why does AIM care about mutants?" Marie asked.

Emma gave me a grim smile. "Mutants are a mystery, Marie. Nobody knows why they've suddenly begun to appear, and they can do things that should be impossible. We are walking, talking, contradictions of the modern world's understanding of biology and physics. Of course an organization of outlaw scientists would be interested in us. We should have seen that before."

About then, AIM tried to kill us.

* * *

Emma opened her mouth to say something more - and then her eyes rolled up suddenly and she collapsed to the office floor without a sound.

I instantly drew my .45 semi-automatic and aimed it at door. Marie lunged for her purse. Stark backed away from the center of the room, groping under his well-tailored jacket for a weapon.

The lights in my office flickered out. Marie and Stark cursed simultaneously.

I heard the office door swing open - I deliberately leave it a bit squeaky - and I put three quick shots into the center, lower right, and lower left of where I knew the door was. In the muzzle flashes, I could see a guy with some kind of submachine gun absorb at least two slugs. He screamed and fell backwards. In the brief glimpse I caught of him, he seemed to be wearing some kind of goggles and a padded vest.

Then I pivoted in my chair and slid to the floor. Just before my ass hit the carpet, I put two more shots into the center of the open window behind my desk. That was purely speculative. I was hoping Marie and Stark would control the front door, while I dealt with the only other obvious route into the office.

The guy who had been coming through the window staggered and slumped. A quick series of shotgun blasts roared out from him, punching holes into the far wall and the ceiling. I fell flat to the floor in horror - dear God, did he really have a fully automatic shotgun?

Marie's .44 revolver barked. She was covering the door.

The light fixture in the ceiling exploded and quivering lances of electricity slashed from it and throughout the office. The office went from darkness lit by occasional flashes of gunfire to pure incandescent-white illumination.

Behind me, Marie screamed, and I think I shouted, "No!".

Lightning ripped across my desk as I rolled to my side and finished off the guy slumped in the window with a shot to the head. His brains splattered against the window frame... and into the second guy behind him out on the fire escape. The second guy recoiled in horror and I lined up a shot on him with the last round in my pistol. Then my gun was caressed by one of the bolts of lightning that was still whipping around my office. The world turned into white-hot pain.

Then the lightning passed and I collapsed onto my face. I heard the thudding of a submachine gun from the other side of my desk. I couldn't move as my muscles convulsed and heaved, but I managed to lift my head. I saw the second shooter in the window finally push his dead friend out of the way. He carefully aimed his shotgun at me...

Then his throat opened up in a shower of blood. Behind the now collapsing gunslinger, I caught a brief glimpse of little Laura. Her claws were out and they gleamed silver-bright in the lights of the street. Her face was oddly serene.

Then another bolt of electricity hit me. And everything went dark.

* * *

"Where are we?" I asked. My voice sounding strangely distant. Everything felt wrong. I tried to move, but my body didn't seem to want to do much of anything.

"A house I keep near downtown," Emma said as she leaned over me. She took a moment to check my pulse and examine my eyes. Her own eyes were badly bloodshot and she had a nasty bruise on the side of her face.

"Marie?" I asked. My heart was in my mouth.

"She's fine," Emma reassured me. "She got knocked out by electricity - just like you."

"How about you?"

Emma shrugged disgustedly. "Fine, but a little embarrassed. These AIM agents had a device that emits psychic interference. Normally it's used for psychic defense, but they maxed it out and hit me when I didn't have my defenses up. It knocked me for a loop."

I tried to sit up and failed. "How'd we get out of my office alive?"

From off to the side I heard Stark's voice. He sounded tired. "Well, it really helped that you took down the leading two gunmen in the first second of the fight. You're pretty fast on the draw, Domino."

"There were more of them," I said as I stared at the ceiling and waited for my arms and legs to cooperate.

"Marie got the second guy who was coming through the door," Stark continued. "Then the electrical fixture on the ceiling went nuts - a neat trick that I'm going to figure out how to do, by the way - and knocked Marie flat. Fortunately, I had a weapon out by that time and I dealt with the next few guys who were trying to come through the door. Meanwhile, your esteemed client kept the window and the fire-escape under control."

Gritting my teeth, I finally managed to force myself to sit up. My body was slowly beginning to get with the program.

We were in an unfamiliar bedroom that was nowhere near as opulent as I would have expected from Emma. Marie and I were laying on the bed. Emma was sitting in a wooden chair right next to me. Laura - splattered with blood yet again - was curled up in an upholstered chair. Stark stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He looked as dapper as ever and for a moment I wondered how he managed to get through the fight without so much as a hair out of place.

"So that was AIM," I said as I leaned over to look at Marie. Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was easy. Her blouse was singed on the right shoulder and side. She was scorched around the edges, but somehow she didn't seem to have any serious burns. Electricity is a funny thing.

Stark nodded. "They had futuristic submachine guns and shotguns, bullet-resistant body armor, goggles that allowed them to see in conditions of darkness and extreme light, a psychic interference projector, and something that caused electricity to run amok. Yeah, that was AIM. So tell me, Dom, was it luck that every shot you put into an AIM goon just happened to hit them where they didn't have armor? Or are you just that good?"

"The answer to that question is 'yes'," I groaned after I leaned over and kissed Marie.

Stark smiled. "Why don't you and Marie come work for me? Tell me what's the most you've ever made in any given year as a PI and I'll double that as your annual salary."

I let out a pained laugh. "That's tempting, Stark, but I should warn you that I have a disturbing history as a bodyguard. The first time I did it, I married the guy that I was guarding. The second time, I ended up sleeping with the boss. The lack of professionalism I've displayed is truly amazing."

Stark's smile turned into a wry grin. "If you're trying to discourage me, it's not working."

Emma shook her head. "Don't waste your time, Tony. I've offered Domino positions as my head of corporate security, personal bodyguard, chief investigator, and concubine. She's turned them all down."

"The concubine one sounded kind of fun," I said thoughtfully. "But Marie said no."

"Damn right," Marie groaned as she stirred feebly and put a hand on her forehead.

"And I think Jean would have had a problem with it as well," I added with a ragged chuckle. Jean Grey is Emma's live-in girlfriend. Like Emma, she's both insanely beautiful and a powerful psychic.

"Actually, Jean seemed rather intrigued by the idea," Emma said thoughtfully. "She had some interesting ideas on how we should dress you. My favorite involved the makeup and jewelry of a royal slave-girl from Egypt's twelfth dynasty - and nothing else."

"Jean is spending too much time around you, Emma," Marie said with a groggy and painful shake of her head as she slowly sat up.

I looked at Emma. "Do you have any whiskey in this place?" I asked.

Emma shook her head, but Stark immediately pulled a silver flask out of his jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to me.

"I provisionally accept the possibility that you might be an okay person," I told Stark solemnly as I gratefully took an appreciative sip. It was the good stuff.

"I'm provisionally and possibly flattered," Stark responded placidly.

I handed Marie the flask.

Laura spoke up from her chair. "We're still no closer to finding Josh."

I shook my head. "Not true."

"Why?" Laura asked curiously.

"Because now we know that AIM has people here in town. We can work with that."

Then I paused and cocked my head at Laura. "Have you been keeping an eye on us?"

"No," she said. "After I left, I stopped at the news-stand across the street. I was looking at the comic-books when I saw some men climbing the fire-escape that goes up to your window."

"Don't read that trash," I said disjointedly as I gingerly rubbed my temples. "Comics will rot your brain and turn you into a juvenile delinquent."

* * *

Marie and I were finally able to walk. We were standing on the sidewalk outside of the office building where we have our office. The place was ringed with cops. Detectives spoke in low voices to one another while making a point of not speaking to us. Bodies covered with bloody blankets were laid out in a neat row on the sidewalk.

Logan was with us. Laura was next to him and he had a hand on her shoulder. She had her eyes closed and was resting her head against his arm. Scott Summers and Bobby Drake - two of Logan's heavy hitters - loomed ominously in the background. Raven and Yuriko stayed closer to their boss. They were Logan's bodyguards.

A police captain was quietly talking to Logan while asking absolutely no questions about the presence of a blood-soaked child. A young cop walked across the street and handed Laura a cup of cocoa. Reporters were being kept behind a police line, but news photographers were taking pictures in a nigh-constant flurry of popping flashbulbs - although they were careful not to take any pictures of us.

That's just how this town works.

Logan looked at me. "Thanks for the call," he said.

"You're welcome," I replied. Then I turned to the police captain.

"I need to take a look at the bodies - and maybe talk to your detectives," I told the captain. I tried not to be too abrupt. Publicly kissing Logan's ring couldn't be easy for a peace officer. Even a crooked one.

The captain just gave me a stony nod.

* * *

The Coroner was a political appointee and the typical detective in this town is chosen for his connections to City Hall - not for skill at solving crimes. So, no big surprise, I didn't get much out of the so-called experts.

That left the bodies.

There wasn't much to work with. The gunmen were all young and in good shape. I didn't recognize any of them. One had a Marine Corps tattoo on his arm. Another had a long-healed pair of bullet wounds in his legs. They'd entered the fight clean, with nothing like wallets, keys, spare change, cigarettes, matchbooks, stray papers, or anything else that might be a clue as to their identity. That was an unusual level of professionalism.

The lack of keys was interesting. I assumed there must have been vehicles with drivers that delivered the shooters, and were supposed to haul them home when the job was done. They'd obviously vanished when the hit didn't go as planned.

Two beat cops were interestedly rummaging through the weapons and equipment that had been collected from the dead. I wondered how many of those fancy guns were disappear before they got to the station. One of them was holding something looked like one of those walky-talky radios that the army is experimenting with. He was turning it over and over in his hands, obviously not sure what to make of it.

"Let me see that," I said.

Without a word the cop handed the gizmo to me. It had dials and gauges on it, but it obviously wasn't a radio. And it stank of ozone.

Electricity.

"Laura!" I called.

* * *

"No," Logan said flatly.

"C'mon, Logan. It's the only lead we have!"

Logan shook his head. "I'm taking Laura home and she's gonna to spend the next few days where I can keep an eye on her. Whether they deserve it or not, the number of bodies stacking up around her is starting to look like the Battle of the Somme."

Laura obviously wasn't happy about that. For that matter, Raven and Yuriko didn't seem too thrilled, either.

"Then you do it," I suggested.

"Which part of 'taking Laura home' didn't you understand?" he growled at me.

"Both of you stop fighting," Marie said angrily. "There's another way."

Then Marie grabbed Logan by his tie, leaned into him, and pressed her lips against his.

* * *

The sun was setting and we were a considerable distance from the center of town. As businesses closed for the night and working men went home, the streets were becoming steadily emptier. That was making things easier for us.

Marie crouched in the middle of the street and then leaned over to sniff the pavement. "This way," she said, nodding in a northerly direction.

I nodded.

Marie agilely got to her feet and grinned at me. She had the slightly elongated canines of both Logan and Laura. But her swagger, stance, and eyes were pure Logan.

Especially the eyes. And the way Marie was looking at me...

"Still not talking to me?" she asked. The grin on her face had a lot of Logan in it as well.

"I'm okay," I said shortly.

"It was the only way, Dom."

"You kissed him for a good thirty seconds! And there was tongue! And you had your hands all over each other!"

"Yep. Now, should we go over one more time what you and Emma did back in the Inner Circle case? I'd like to hear how kissing Logan was worse than that."

"It's not the same thing and you know it! And besides, I've seen you absorb someone's powers before without lip-locking them. You do it all the time."

Marie shook her head. "You know it works better when I kiss somebody. It's faster and deeper. And with some people it's a lot more fun."

I bit back an angry retort. I was being silly. And I knew I was being silly.

Marie smiled again. "But you're right - I've been a very bad girl. And after this is all done, I'll just have to be punished. Where do you suppose we can get a riding crop?"

"An equerry supply store," I said shortly.

Marie looked at me with narrowed eyes. "That was a fast answer."

"I've given the matter some thought."

Marie gave me another long - and perhaps wary - look. Then we got back onto the sidewalk and began moving again. The distinctive odor of the electricity-calling gizmo the AIM goons used on us had permeated one of their vehicles. Marie was using the enhanced senses she'd borrowed from Logan to follow it back to its source. We were basically doing the same thing the Laura had done when she tracked the vehicle of the creeps who'd kidnapped Tommy Oberlin.

I tried to keep my mind on the case. But Marie was now part herself and part Logan. And I have to admit that I wanted to lick every inch of that.

"You know, I can smell how horny you are," Marie said dreamily as she walked beside me, her high heels clicking on the sidewalk. "It's like... like... the time we were on that empty beach and it was so hot and we went skinny-dipping. And there was the sea and you tasted so hot and wild..."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Focus," I told Marie.

"I'm very focused," Marie said as she gave me the kind of look that a hungry wolf gives an unwary deer.

"Later," I said.

"Damn right," Marie whispered.

*Would you two tarts stop that?* Emma told us psychically. She was in a car a few blocks behind us. *Otherwise you can deal with AIM on your own and I'll go back home and spend the rest of the night with Jean.*

*Sorry,* I thought back at Emma. *We forgot you were there.*

* * *

It was well after sunset and as clear of a night as you could expect near the city. A yellowish half-moon was struggling its way over the horizon.

The local AIM facility didn't look like much. It was a garage near the highway that had been knocked out of business in the earliest days of the Depression. You can see it from the highway and I'd driven past it many times. There'd been a "For Sale" sign in the window for quite some time. The sign was gone now.

There were several cars neatly lined up in the parking lot. Marie's nose said that one of them was the car we'd been tracking. Despite the lateness of the hour, the lights were on in the garage.

*Emma? Can you see this?* I asked.

*I'm on that hill west of you - overlooking the garage,* Emma replied. *However, I can't sense anything inside. They must have another psychic interference device operating inside.*

As we watched, the garage's front door opened and a guy dressed in bright yellow mechanic's coveralls walked outside.

"That color really doesn't go well with villainy," Marie said dryly.

"It does kind of stand out," I conceded.

The guy in the coveralls checked the doors of the parked cars to make sure they were locked. Then he walked back inside the garage.

*I think I know where Foley is,* Emma said.

* * *

Emma, Marie, and I were in a speak-easy a couple of miles from the AIM garage. It was moderately busy and I scanned the noisy crowd critically, looking for a spot where we could talk.

"We need someplace quiet," Emma told the doorman.

The doorman - a massive bruiser with the broken nose and scars of an ex-boxer - just shrugged. "Sorry, toots. What you see is what you get."

Emma's eyes narrowed. I put my hand on her arm and squeezed gently. Emma is used to getting her way, but the doorman was just doing his job. He didn't deserve to find himself suffering the fate of people who don't give Emma what she wants.

Marie stepped around us and raised a hand to get the doorman's attention. His face lit up with a broad grin when he saw Marie. He was also missing some teeth.

"Hi, Marie? How's it going?" he asked.

"Hey, Stan," Marie responded with a smile. "We really do need someplace quiet to talk."

Without hesitation, Stan nodded and walked us over to a roped-off side room. We even held the rope for us as we walked into the empty room. After we sat down, a pretty young waitress wearing a low-slung bustier and a skimpy skirt took our orders. She had an accent straight from the heart of the Bronx and addressed me as "sweetie", Emma as "honey pie", and Marie as "ma'am".

The look on Emma's face was priceless. I was trying my best not to smile.

*Stop gloating, Dom,* Emma warned me.

*And you can stop being so testy, Emma,* I shot back. *You're off your turf. Things work differently here. Do yourself a favor and just go along with the charming customs of the primitive locals.*

*I must admit that I don't understand how Marie remains so influential. Don't people understand that she's not with Logan any longer?*

I shrugged. *Yeah, but the word's out that Logan still likes her. So folks figure that getting on Marie's bad side would be a bad move. And besides, a lot of people just happen to genuinely like Marie.*

*I notice that you don't get the kind of deference that Marie gets," Emma said. "But you and Logan were together once."

Then Emma smiled as an image of me and Logan appeared in my head. We were walking down the street together. He was over-dressed in an expensively florid cream-colored suit, while I was dolled up as a gangster's doxy - including slutty fishnet stockings, ridiculously high heels, and peroxide blonde hair. The part where I was also cradling a Thompson submachine gun was a nicely Hollywood touch.

I shrugged again. *Every now and then, Logan and I used to blow off steam by getting naked in the backseat of a car. Marie and Logan, on the other hand, were the real thing. A lot of people thought she and Logan might end up getting married. Hell, I thought they were going to get married.*

*You and Marie weren't seeing Logan at the same time, were you?*

I confess to actually being a bit shocked by that question. Which, when you think about it, didn't really make any sense given what Emma knew about Logan's love life.

*No,* I said. *When I was with Logan, I was just one of several gals who kept him company. I didn't mind - at the time I didn't want anything serious. We broke up just before Marie showed up. After Marie left Logan, Raven and Yuriko started keeping him company.*

*He's not a man who lacks for women in his life,* Emma said dryly.

*But maybe he's a man who has trouble keeping them,* I suggested.

There was something about the way Emma was talking about Logan... It was no secret to anyone that knew her that Jean was attracted to Logan. But as far as I could tell, Emma had no interest in Logan at all. I think the idea actually puzzled her. She couldn't understand what other women saw in Logan.

"What do you know about Foley?" I asked aloud. Enough talk about Logan.

"Remember the man in those dreadful yellow coveralls?" Emma began. "He was one of the AIM thugs to whom Pietro delivered Foley. I managed to get a good psychic read from him."

Marie and I both leaned forward. "So where's Foley?" Marie asked eagerly.

"He was sent to a facility out in the Pine Barrens."

* * *

The Pine Barrens is a lot of nothing much that occupies a big part of southern New Jersey. As the name suggests, it's a sparsely inhabited place filled with a lot of pine trees and not a lot else. It's a bad place to get lost in, and a really good place to hide something.

Emma took us right to the AIM base.

It was situated on some low bluffs overlooking a small river, at the end of a freshly graveled road. There was maybe a dozen concrete buildings surrounded by a chain-link fence. At first glance, it might be assumed that it was some kind of Army facility, until you noticed a modest sign at the main gate that said it was "Modern Oklahoma Pharmaceuticals Plant #1".

A quick check of county records showed that the plant had been built five years ago and was owned by a company out of Tulsa. If you tried to find out more about the company, you got a confusing tangle of phone references and post office box numbers that led you around in a big circle across a dozen states and three countries. "Modern Oklahoma Pharmaceuticals" wasn't a publicly traded company and seemed to own nothing else but the New Jersey plant. Nobody seemed to know what they made in their plant. Nobody local worked in their plant. The plant employees all seemed to stay in the facility and weren't a very communicative bunch. However, the company did spend enough money locally - mostly buying things like food - that the few inhabitants of the region were cautiously grateful for their presence.

Emma couldn't get anywhere when she tried to psychically penetrate the plant. Whenever anyone left the grounds, all she could tell was that they were small-fry with menial jobs.

I talked it over with Emma, Marie, and Tony. We came up with a series of increasingly exotic plans that involved everything from stealthy infiltrations to armed assaults on the plant. None of it was a good idea, since we didn't have anything but the most general idea of the facility layout or purpose. And we all had a strong suspicion that the four of us couldn't handle what we would run into if we entered the plant.

Eventually, we decided to try something deeply unconventional.

Marie didn't like it at all, but after an long talk she irritably agreed to give it a try.

I drove my car up to the front gate of "Modern Oklahoma Pharmaceuticals Plant #1", handed my business card to a surprised and puzzled-looking guard and said, "I'd like to talk to somebody in charge. Tell them I know this place is a front for an organization called AIM."

* * *

After about a half-hour of waiting at the gate - all the while watching an ominous-looking weather front roll into the area - I was finally allowed inside. As the sky darkened, I parked my car inside the gate, just off the track that led deeper into the facility. Then I was quickly and efficiently searched for weapons. The gate guard did such a good job that I found myself wondering if he had once been a cop. He took my .45 automatic, my .38 backup pistol, and my switchblade.

I was uncomfortable at being disarmed. Very uncomfortable. But it wasn't exactly a surprise.

Another guard walked me to the nearest building. It was about the size of a medium house, but had the same concrete-institutional look of the other buildings. The reception room just inside the door was sparse and had a vaguely military look. A guard at a desk - a woman - fumbled around uncertainly and then had me sign into a visitor's log-book. I was the only name on the first page of the book.

After that, I was led into a large and surprisingly luxurious office. The walls were lined with photos of groups of men in lab-coats, interspersed with technical instruments that were displayed on the kinds of platforms that you would normally see in a museum. A large desk dominated the back of the room, and the man behind it got to his feet when I entered. He was a short and slender fellow with a fringe of gray hair, a pair of wire-rim glasses, and coldly blue eyes. He didn't offer to shake hands as he stared at me in obvious distaste.

"My name is Jonathan Wentworth and I'm the coordinator of this plant. What do you want, Miss Domino?" he asked.

I took a cue from one of the diplomas on the wall behind Wentworth. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Wentworth. And before this goes any further, you should be aware that I have associates who know I'm here and are prepared to make a considerable fuss if anything happens to me. That includes people with serious financial resources and mutant powers. And, just in case you haven't been informed, some buttonmen from your organization tried to kill me, my partner, and some other people just a day ago. It didn't go well for them. My friends and I are not pushovers."

Dr. Wentworth didn't react except to say, "I'm not accustomed to repeating myself, Miss Domino. What do you want?"

"I represent a consortium of interests who'd like to do business with Amalgamated International Mechanics."

Dr. Wentworth pursed his thin lips thoughtfully for a moment and then said, "What kind of business?"

"We would like to buy any mutants you have under your control. And we would like to negotiate an understanding with your organization that would get you out of the mutant business."

Wentworth shook his head. "No. Get out."

"You haven't heard our offer," I pointed out.

"I don't need to. Please don't make it necessary to have you escorted out, Miss Domino."

I took a deep breath and then let it out, trying to keep calm. "This is a chance to make a reasonable and peaceful deal, Dr. Wentworth. If you aren't careful, you might start a war."

Wentworth hit a button on his desk. "Security, remove this woman from my office."

I clasped my hands together in front of my body. A pair of rings on each of my hands came into contact and let out an electromagnetic shout.

Two guards opened the door to Wentworth's office and glanced at him. He nodded in my direction.

The floor rumbled. And the wind suddenly became to howl.

Then a thunderous explosion came from outside. Even through the concrete walls, it was loud. The lights flickered out, but then a set of reddish emergency lights kicked in almost immediately.

The guards were distracted and that was all I needed. I ducked into a crouch and pivoted into a wide leg sweep. I caught one guard behind the knees and he tumbled to the floor. The other one I punched in the balls. That was admittedly unladylike, but it was also very effective. He went down, clutching at the offended part of his anatomy. The other guard got his legs underneath his body and lunged for me, but I kicked him in the face and scrambled away as he went cross-eyed.

Wentworth was fumbling for something in his desk drawer. I vaulted the desk and shoulder-checked him onto the floor. The keen-looking machine pistol he'd been grabbing for hit the carpet. I snatched up the gun and smacked Wentworth on the side of the head with the butt. Then I shoved him under the desk and crawled in after him.

Right about then, Erik Lehnsherr tore the steel roof off of the building. Debris flew everywhere and a sizable chunk of rebar-studded concrete slammed onto the top of the desk. Once the air cleared, I poked my head out from under the desk and looked up. Erik was floating in midair above what was left of the building. He was wearing the strangest outfit you'd ever seen. It was red and purple and had a cape and something that looked like a Greek hoplite helmet. Off to the side, ominously hovering in midair, was the building roof.

Erik nodded at me and made a negligent gesture. The steel roof went flying and landed with a spectacular crash.

"C'mon, Doc," I said to Wentworth as I hauled him up. "Let's go see just what kind of trouble you've got yourself in."

The guards had run away. The lady guard who'd checked me into the building was under some debris. Without any prompting, Wentworth quickly dug her out. She had a busted leg and a scatter of bruises and cuts, but was otherwise okay.

"Stay here," I told her, "and for God's sake, don't do anything stupid like go for a gun. This fight's already over and your side has lost."

The guard wiped blood from her face and nodded. Then she looked at Wentworth. There were tears of pain in her eyes.

"At ease, corporal," Wentworth told her calmly. "Wait here until medics arrive. And do not move until they have a chance to check on you."

I have to admit that surprised me. I couldn't see Wentworth as the kind of man who cared about the people under his command. But then again, it takes all types to make the world go around.

Then Wentworth and I went outside.

* * *

A mile or two to the west, a sizable tornado was blocking the road into the plant. Shredded pine trees were being thrown in all directions. The sky was dark and sullen and lightning rippled all around us. As we watched, a wicked lightning bolt slammed into the plant's water tower. Wentworth and I both cringed away from the shockwave. The thunder was a physical blow that staggered us both.

High in the dark sky, framed by lightning, I caught a glimpse of Ororo's long, white hair whipping wildly in the wind.

I resisted the urge to get on my knees and beg for mercy. When Ororo gets rolling, it's scary.

Logan and Lehnsherr's ground troops were working their way from building to building, clearing each as they went. We could hear the occasional rip of tommyguns and the dull thump of the grenades. Off in the distance, I saw a red bolt of energy slam into the wall of a building and knock it down. A group of men tumbled out of the building, throwing down their weapons as they raised their hands.

Tony Stark was wearing some kind of steel armor and was perched on top of a guard tower. As I watched, he tossed a machine gun down to the ground. The two guards in the tower had their hands up and looked more than a little worse for the wear. Tony pointed to the ground and the guards began climbing down from the tower. Then Tony triggered the rocket pack on his back and flew off to the next target.

The ground rumbled again and a distant building split in two and collapsed. Pietro had a guy in his outfit who can cause earthquakes. I'd never been around him when he used his power. It wasn't as impressive as the show Ororo was putting on, but it was still pretty remarkable.

Maybe it was then that I really, truly, understood just how dangerous we were.

AIM guards, technicians, and scientists were being collected into a makeshift POW camp. Hank and Emma were sorting them out as Kristy Nord built stone walls to contain everyone. Then Kurt popped into existence next to Hank. He was holding onto a dazed-looking guy in zebra-striped pants and a shirt - obviously a prisoner of some kind.

Near the front gate, Logan was frowning at a map. Pietro suddenly raced up and they paused to talk. Logan pointed at a distant building. Pietro nodded and ran off.

Wentworth took it all in through narrowed eyes. Then he looked at me.

"Congrats, Doc," I said dryly. "You've managed to unite people who up until now couldn't possibly be united."

"Any further loss of life is unnecessary," Wentworth said emotionlessly. "Call off your people, Miss Domino. Then we can talk."

I nodded and began walking Wentworth over to where Logan was standing. Lehnsherr silently descended to the ground next to Logan.

* * *

In the end, Logan was more reasonable than Lehnsherr. Go figure.

At first, Lehnsherr wanted to kill everyone from AIM and leave their facility a blazing ruin, but eventually he calmed down. After a long talk with Wentworth, Logan and Lehnsherr came up with something more reasonable.

Wentworth was apparently actually fairly high up in the AIM hierarchy, and he cut a deal with us. AIM got out of the mutant research business and coughed up all of their mutant prisoners. That included some people who weren't at the plant we raided. They also agreed to pull all of their operations out of our city. In exchange, Logan and Lehnsherr would provide the occasional mutant-powered service to AIM - in exchange for a reasonable fee, of course. I wasn't exactly happy about the last part, but smarter people than me have said that successful negotiations always involve some pain for both sides.

In the end, I was left wondering if Logan and Lehnsherr were underestimating AIM. But with any luck, the fine folks at AIM had fully absorbed the meaning of that scene in the Pine Barrens.

* * *

Marie had already separated Josh from the rest of the rescued prisoners. The dead and injured from the fight were piled up next to the front gate. As I walked back to my car, I could see Josh walking among the wounded, stopping here and there to heal anyone who needed help. He didn't distinguish between our guys and the AIM people. After all that the Egyptian and AIM had done to him... well, I guess I found it surprising that he still had the need within him to help people.

By some miracle, my car had made it through the maelstrom with only a couple of busted side windows and a scatter of bullet holes. Marie and I stood next to it and waited for Josh to finish.

Josh was a fairly handsome young fellow. He was older than Sooraya, but I figured he was still due for some filling out around the shoulders. Of course, the standard-issue prisoner's outfit didn't help his appearance. A bath and a haircut wouldn't have hurt either. He also looked like he need to catch up on a few meals.

"Hi, Josh," I said as I awkwardly stuck out my hand. He took it slowly, but his grip was sure and strong.

"Hello, ma'am," he replied. "Thanks for coming for me."

I decided to ignore the "ma'am". The kid had problems enough as it was.

"That's okay, Josh," I said.

"Marie said a friend of Sooraya's hired you to get me out of here."

"Yep."

Josh smiled tiredly. "Look, you know about Sooraya and... and me. Right?"

I nodded slowly. "More or less. Maybe I don't know all the details."

Josh glanced at Marie, and then at me.

"The last I saw Sooraya, she told me she was pregnant," Josh said. He spoke with air of a man who was incapable of being surprised any longer at the curves life was throwing him.

"You have a baby boy," Marie said gently. "His name is Hassim. He's in good health and has a great set of lungs. I'm pretty sure he's going to be a handsome fellow when he grows up."

Josh stood there for a long moment, absorbing the way his world kept changing. Prisoner, free man, father - all of that in just a matter of hours. And he wasn't done yet.

"Do you know what the Egyptian did to Sooraya and me?" he asked.

I hesitated before answering. "I can guess."

"Does Sooraya hate me?" he asked us after another long silence. It seemed to me that the question came out of the deepest and most scared part of his soul.

"I don't know," I said honestly.

"No," Marie said simultaneously. I'm sure she was being just as honest.

Different points of view. Different takes on people.

* * *

We drove back to town. It took a fair amount of time to get back, but Josh said nothing the entire way. It was well after dark when we got to our apartment. We brought him a meal from a nearby all-night diner. It was roast-beef and mashed potatoes, and he made it vanish in less than minute.

That night, Josh slept on our couch. He had loud nightmares all night long.

The next morning, Josh took a long shower while Marie ran out to get him some new clothes. She's freakishly good at guessing people's measurements. Then we got Josh a haircut and bought him breakfast.

Josh looked better, but his eyes were still haunted. It occurred to me that Josh's biggest injury was something that he couldn't heal.

Over breakfast, Josh started talking. There were some things built up inside of him that had to get out. Josh told us about what the Egyptian had him do to Sooraya. And what the Egyptian made Sooraya to him. And what the Egyptian did to both of them. It was obvious what the Egyptian was after. Force two kids to become intimate. Wait for them fall in love. Then break them to pieces. All the while feeding, feeding, feeding on their misery.

What Josh told us was pretty bad. And I'm fairly sure he didn't tell us the worst.

"What now?" I asked Josh as he polished off his steak and eggs.

He finished his glass of milk and looked at me.

"I guess I should find out which of you is right about Sooraya," Josh said.

Sooraya's apartment was in walking distance. We walked him to the front door of her building.

Josh paused for a long time, obviously wondering if he should just keep walking. We wouldn't have stopped him. There are some things nobody can sort out for other people.

Then Foley took a deep breath and walked inside the building.

* * *

"Go back to the office and keep an eye on things," I told Marie.

"How about you?" she asked.

"I have to go to the post office," I said.

Marie nodded and left.

Not too far from Sooraya's apartment is a post office. I stuffed the cash that Laura gave to us into a small parcel, put a lot of stamps on it, and mailed it to Mr. and Mrs. Oberlin. I was fairly sure that Tommy didn't have the authority to dispense family funds. And it didn't feel right to keep money that a pair of desperate and frightened parents had paid to get their son back.

* * *

When I got back to the office, our client was there. She was chatting with Marie about boys. Tommy Oberlin didn't know it, but he had a secret admirer. I didn't know if I should pity the boy or be happy for him.

"You have done a fine job," Laura told Marie and I in that very, very serious tone of voice she sometimes uses.

I gave her a long look. Then I nodded my head and said, "Thanks, boss."

Laura stood up and put a one dollar bill on my lightning-scorched desk. "You deserve a bonus. That is my week's allowance. There will be more in the future."

Marie smiled, picked up the dollar, and said to Laura, "That's great. Hey, I feel like some ice-cream! Want to come along?"

Laura grinned and nodded eagerly.

Then Marie looked at me. "Dom?" she asked as she airily waved the dollar bill in my direction.

I shook my head. "You guys go ahead. I'll man the phone."

Laura and Marie were holding hands when they left the office. I've noticed that Laura never flinches from touching Marie. I made a mental note to get insanely jealous in about ten years.

I leaned back in my chair and avoided looking at the ruin of my desk and I looked at Sooraya's empty chair. I wondered how things were going with her and Josh.

I read some mail, jotted down a few responses that would have to be typed up, double-checked our bank statement, and then made a phone call to the building superintendent, reminding him that the office had some battle-damage that needed to be repaired. For the longest time, I was puzzled as to why the building's owners didn't throw us out. The fight with AIM wasn't exactly the first brawl that had come to our front door. We were the definition of dangerous tenants.

Then I did some checking and found out that Emma actually owned our building. When I confronted her about that, Emma smiled cheerfully and offered to cut me a deal on the rent in exchange for some very intimate services. I angrily told her that she was the lowest form of tramp that I had ever met. She just laughed and asked if that meant my answer was yes or no.

The memory brought a smile to my lips. My answer was ultimately no, but I won't pretend that I wasn't tempted. And if Domino Investigations ever got into a financial tight spot, it was nice to know that I had some options...

With a yawn and a stretch, I got out of my chair and glanced out the window. We'd cleaned up the worst of the dried blood and brains, but there was still some reddish stains in the recesses of the wood.

Down on the sidewalk, I could see Josh and Sooraya. He was walking her to the office.

Josh was carrying his son. For just a moment, I caught him looking into his boy's eyes. He was obviously smitten.

At the corner, Josh handed Hassim over to Sooraya and they talked for a while. Then they both paused. A goodbye kiss didn't happen.

Maybe someday it would happen. And maybe not.

Sooraya turned away to cross the street and go to work. Josh watched her walk away, the expression on his face a million miles away. Then he turned and went back the way he and Sooraya had come. The only thing that made sense was that he was going back to Sooraya's apartment.

When Sooraya entered the office, I was back in my chair. She looked at the bullet holes, electrical burns, and stains of dubious origin and sighed.

"I understand the case is over," Sooraya said. Hassim gurgled at me what passed for him as a polite hello.

"Yeah," I answered. "You have some stuff in your in-box that needs to be typed."

Sooraya bobbed her head and said politely, "Yes, Miss Domino."

Sooraya arranged Hassim into the cradle next to her desk, and then sat down and rolled some paper into her typewriter. Then she paused and looked back at me.

"Thank you for rescuing Josh," she said. It was as if she were thanking me for loaning her a pencil.

"That's okay," I replied.

Then Sooraya began typing. She's getting pretty good. Marie says Sooraya is now actually faster than her and only has a few more errors per minute - which is pretty good for someone not working in her native language.

You know, there's a funny thing about the words "lost love". It can mean different things.

Josh and Sooraya were once in love, but then it was coldly and deliberately stolen from them. But they were also separated from each other. Each of them were literally lost from the only person they'd ever loved.

"Lost love" can be both a feeling and a person. And, ultimately, there's a lot more lost love in this world than otherwise. That tells you something about our world.

I figured the odds were stacked against Josh and Sooraya sorting things out and maybe finding once again what the Egyptian had given them - and then taken from them. But at least they now had a chance. I hoped they would be happy with whatever they hashed out between them.

So that was the end of the case. It wasn't exactly a happy ending, but it was as close as any of us could hope


	7. The Case of the Thinking Machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony Stark hires 'Domino Investigations' to find who is importing strange and rare parts and equipment into town, the trail quickly leads to a scientist named Henry Pym. But what does Pym's girlfriend -- Janet Van Dyne -- and the scientist/industrialist Bolivar Trask have to do with the case?

THE CASE OF THE THINKING MACHINES

"Kiss my ass, Tony!" I snarled. I wasn't shouting - yet. However, that was probably just a matter of time.

Marie was standing near the office window and was looking out of it at the street below as she tried to hide a smile. Sooraya, who was sitting at her desk, actually winced. Sooraya is a traditional Afghani girl and she really wants me to be more of a lady. It's a losing battle on her part, but I love her for trying.

Little Hassim, sleeping in his crib next to Sooraya's desk, didn't even stir. I suppose he's used to me by now.

Tony Stark gave me one of his more persuasive smiles, "Dom... please... just listen to me."

"We don't do industrial spying!" I declared flatly.

That didn't always used to be true, by the way. Then I eventually realized just how thin the line was between that kind of work and just plain theft. When a PI is asked to do industrial work, they're often after something that's far more valuable than mere money - they're after ideas. After a couple of cases that didn't sit quite right with me, I put out the word that I was no longer interested in that kind of work. One of the first guys I told was Tony Stark.

And now here Tony was, standing in front of me, bold as brass and shiny as a new penny, asking me to jump into bed with him.

That charming, arrogant, handsome, son-of-a-bitch.

"This time you might be saving lives," Tony added quickly.

That made me hesitate. Marie walked over, put her hands on my shoulders, and gently squeezed. That roughly translates as, 'calm down and hear the man out'.

I subsided back into my chair and made a 'go on' gesture in Tony's general direction.

"My people have noticed something odd," Tony continued after giving Marie a grateful look. "There are small shipments of unusual equipment and hardware coming into town. Things like non-standard electrical parts, rare and high-performance vacuum tubes, exotic alloys, and miniaturized servos and hydraulic systems. All of it is very high quality and pretty damn expensive. And most of it is being shipped to companies and organizations that don't exist. Someone rents an office, puts up a sign, receives the shipment, and then vanishes."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like those bastards at AIM."

"AIM said they'd stay out of the city," Marie pointed out quietly. "They've got a deal with Logan and Erik. If they're breaking it, there's gonna be a war."

I nodded in agreement. I didn't want a war, but I also didn't want to see AIM back in town.

By now, Tony was staring off into nowhere. I could almost see the gears turning in his head as he considered the problem. There are those who call Tony Stark the greatest inventive genius since Edison. The only man living that's even close to him is Nikola Tesla. Whatever it is that goes on in Tony's head, it's something the rest of us really can't understand.

"If you give me a list of components, I can usually see what can be done with them," Tony added distractedly. "But this time... this time I keep coming up with solutions that worry me."

"Tony, if somebody is building some kind of weapon, that's not against the law," I countered reasonably. "Hell, you do that yourself."

Tony nodded. "I won't argue with that, but I think whatever's going on here is just plain scary."

Then Tony looked me in the eye and - damn him - I saw genuine worry. Tony tries hard to hide it under a mask of high-living, expensive booze, loose women, and a constant stream of wise-assery, but deep down inside he's one of the good guys.

"Dom, put everything else you're doing on hold and look into this for me," he said. "I'll triple your normal fee."

* * *

I got off the phone. I'd just passed two minor cases off to another PI. I owed Maria Hill a few favors and this was a good way to pay her back.

Marie was curled up in the office easy chair, comparing a hand-written list that Tony had given us to a phone and business directory.

"Tony's right," Marie announced. "Most of these parts are being shipped to outfits that don't seem to really exist. The exceptions are some packages that went to the University."

"Sooraya, check and see if any of those companies are actually real and doing business somewhere else," I ordered. "Maybe they're from out of town."

Sooraya nodded.

I looked at Marie. "You and I are going to school."

Marie gave me a crooked smile. "I just hope there won't be a test. Book learning was never my strong suit."

* * *

Actually, Marie and I both know more than a few people at State University.

"Any reason you can see that we should have a talk with Jean?" I asked Marie as we parked at the University. Jean Grey is a student there. She's also a pretty powerful psychic and the drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend of a lady named Emma Frost. Emma is one of the richest women in the world, in addition to having the morals of an alley cat.

Marie smiled. "Jean's not a scientist or engineer. She's studying education and psychology."

That made sense. "How about Betty and Doc Banner?" I added.

Marie stirred uneasily. "Actually, talking to Bruce makes sense. And I wish it didn't."

A while back, Bruce and Betty were right smack in the middle of one of our weirder and more dangerous cases. As a matter of fact, Betty was our client and Bruce was the missing person she hired us to find. We eventually found Bruce. And we also found out that both he and Betty were a lot more than they appeared - as well as slowly dying of some kind of poisoning. Scientific research isn't as safe and peaceful of a pursuit as you might think.

Bottom line: Bruce Banner may be nothing much to look at, but if you piss him off he's one of the scariest guys you'll ever meet.

"Betty's something like six or seven months along, isn't she?" I asked.

Marie nodded sadly. Betty Ross was pregnant, but it was a race to see if the baby would arrive before the mother died.

* * *

"None of this has anything to do with my work," Bruce Banner said right after we gave him a copy of Tony's list. The shipments to the University were circled in red.

Bruce didn't look good. He'd lost weight and there were dark rings around his eyes. A slightly languid manner to his speech and body language made me suspect that he was still using morphine. That last part wasn't completely Banner's fault - an evil bastard named Samuel Sterns deliberately made him an addict as a means of controlling him. But at the moment, Banner had a long array of problems that pushed the need to kick his drug habit way down the list of things that really mattered.

"Bruce, do you have any idea who might be using this stuff?" Marie asked.

With the air of a man doing a tremendous favor for this lessers, Banner gave the list another look.

"The vacuum tubes are very specialized," he said finally. "Off hand, I didn't know it was possible to manufacture tubes to these specifications. The only researcher on campus who might make use of something like that is Pym. Dr. Henry Pym."

* * *

Dr. Pym's lab was on the outskirts of the campus, butting right up against the edge of a rather undesirable and semi-abandoned part of town that's called Piedmont. Piedmont is an old industrial district. It was built in the middle nineteenth century, and then crippled by the modernization of industry in the early part of this century. The Depression finished it off.

The cops spend a lot of time making sure that the few poor people who haunt what's left of Piedmont understand that they're to leave the University alone. A lot of heads get busted in the process.

It occurred to me that if Pym had a lab on this part of campus, he wasn't too popular with the administration.

Pym wasn't in his laboratory, but his girlfriend was. She answered the door when I knocked.

The woman at the door was gorgeous. I swear, this town is full of hotties - it's enough to make a plain-Jane like me give up on mirrors. She was a few years younger than Marie and I, more than a little below average height, and had short black hair, blue eyes, a heart-shaped face, and a perky smile. She was wearing a long yellow and black dress that somehow managed to look casual, despite that fact it had obviously been made for her.

I'm not much on clothes, so when I notice how another woman is dressed you know she's wearing something fantastic.

"Janet Van Dyne?" Marie gasped. She seemed completely surprise.

Miss Van Dyne put a professionally polite look on her face. It's the kind of expression famous people use when they run into a fan.

Marie obviously knew this woman. I didn't have the slightest clue who she was.

"Hello," I began carefully. "My name is Domino. This is my associate, Marie. We're private investigators and we'd like to talk to Dr. Pym..."

"I love your work!" Marie interrupted excitedly.

Miss Van Dyne looked us over. I could read the expression on her face. Marie's store-bought dress, slightly worn high heels, and simple jewelry were barely passable. My pants, shirt, jacket, and brogans were not.

"Hank isn't here right now," she said politely. 'Hank' was apparently Dr. Pym.

"I saw some of your designs at the Hilton fashion show last month!" Marie enthused. "They were great!"

Okay, I finally got it. Janet Van Dyne was a fashion designer. And Marie definitely knew her work. Marie is one of those people who likes expensive things, but hardly ever actually buys them. Even when she has the money.

"Will he be back soon?" I asked hurriedly, trying to keep the investigation on track.

"I don't..." Miss Van Dyne began hesitantly.

"You're the best designer in town!" Marie added eagerly.

A slight smile appeared on Miss Van Dyne's face. "Come on inside," she said.

As we entered, Marie gave me a wink. I had to hide a grin.

My clever, clever, girl.

* * *

I didn't know what to make of Dr. Pym's lab. It had a lot less glassware, mysterious equipment, and strange lights than Dr. Banner's lab. In fact, it mostly reminded me of a better-than-average-quality electrical shop. It smelled of electricity, insulation, and hot metal. Parts and tools were scattered over an array of benches and work-tables.

And, yeah, there were racks and racks of vacuum tubes. The walls were lined with them - all carefully installed into long lines of ceramic sockets.

"What's a 'computer'?" I asked Miss Van Dyne - or Janet as she wanted us to call her. She was enthusiastically giving us the cook's tour of the lab as she tried to explain what her boyfriend was doing. A lot of what she was saying was going over my head.

Marie gave me a look. "It's a job where somebody does calculations and computations. All the big companies employ people as computers. Banks, accounting firms, and insurance companies use a lot of them."

That rang a bell. "Yeah, I guess I've heard of that. It sounds kind of dull. Don't you just spend your day working a calculating machine?"

Marie shrugged, "Yeah, but it's how some people feed their families."

Janet was smiling at us. As she spent more and more time around us, she was unbending.

"Hank wants to build an automatic computing machine that's faster and more accurate than a calculator," Janet said.

"Sounds like a good way to put a lot of people out of work," I said - just before realizing that I might be shooting my mouth off. I had to get along with Janet, not piss her off.

Janet nodded. "Hank and I have talked about that. He says that there are always new jobs that focus around changes in technology."

I nodded. That was true, but it was also true that during the gap between the old jobs and the new jobs, a lot of people found themselves in trouble. And some never made the shift. The slums were filled with folks like that.

"Why, hello," Dr. Henry Pym said as he walked into his lab. He was obviously surprised to see us.

* * *

At first glance, you could definitely see what Janet saw in Henry Pym.

He was tall, blond, fit, and ruggedly handsome - which was quite the contrast to Bruce Banner, who was the only other big-brain scientist type that I knew.

But his eyes bothered me. They had a lot of Banner in them: a suggestion that if something was useful and could be done, then it should be done and all other considerations be damned.

Janet gave Pym a peck on the check and cuddled up next to him. Pym put an arm around her, his left hand ending up rather low on her hip considering that they were around a pair of strangers. However, Janet didn't seem to mind and it was clearly none of my business.

I stuck out my hand. Still obviously wary of me and Marie, Pym shook it.

"Dr. Pym, my name is Domino and this is my partner Marie," I introduced us politely. "We're private investigators and are wondering if we might have a moment of your time."

Before Pym could respond, Marie handed him Tony's list. He took it automatically. Curiosity was obviously a major trait of his personality.

"This is a list of rather advanced parts and components," he said slowly. "Some of them - the ones circled in red - were ordered by me for a project that I'm currently working on. Where did you get this?"

"Some of these parts may have gone missing in transit," I said. That wasn't exactly a lie. And I let Pym fill in the blanks in what I had said. Assumptions are sometimes an investigator's best friend.

Pym shrugged as he continued to examine the list. "I received everything I ordered."

I nodded. "That's good to hear, Dr. Pym."

Pym was still looking at the list. He suddenly frowned.

"Do you know who ordered these other parts?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I can't discuss that, Dr. Pym," I said carefully. "Is something wrong?"

Pym's cold blue eyes met mine. "No, but some of these parts are... interesting."

I didn't say anything, letting the silence drag out a little. I was hoping that Pym would say something useful. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and handed the list back to me.

"Janet says you're working on an advanced calculating machine," Marie said suddenly, trying to keep the conversation alive.

Pym glanced at Marie as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes casually roamed up and down her body, pausing at her face, breasts, and hips. Okay, Marie's a looker and that's not an uncommon reaction. Hell, I'm pretty sure I did the same thing the first time I met her - and I still thought I was 100% straight in those days. But it still bothered me. The casually superior way Pym was looking at Marie reminded me of the way he was touching Janet.

A smile quirked across Pym's face. "ULTRON is more than just a calculating machine."

I think I blinked in surprise. "ULTRON?" I asked.

"The name of my project," Pym explained.

Janet smiled brightly at us. "Hank says that ULTRON will change the world!"

* * *

Marie and I waited until we were out of the building before comparing notes.

"He knows something," I said as we walked across the big open park-like commons that was the center of the University.

"Yep," Marie agreed. "Now what?"

"We keep an eye on Pym and see if he leads us somewhere," I said.

"We can't exactly tail him," Marie said. "He knows us now."

"We can hire a stringer," I suggested thoughtfully. We sometimes do that.

Marie's face brightened. "We know someone who spends a lot of time on campus. And she has some special talents."

I frowned. "Jean? Her girlfriend is one of the richest people on Earth. She doesn't exactly need a job."

"Jean's an independent gal," Marie pointed out. "Don't you suppose she'd like to have some money of her own?"

I shrugged. "Let's see what she has to say."

* * *

We found Jean in the lady's hall of the student center. It's a 'no men allowed' place where students of the female persuasion can study, talk, or just goof-off without having to worry about those guys who don't seem to know when to back off.

"Dr. Henry Pym," Jean repeated slowly. She said it like she didn't particularly like the man in question.

Marie raised an eyebrow at Jean's tone. "Did you have a run-in with him?"

Jean shook her head. "No. Pym likes to look, but he's pretty correct otherwise. He and his fashion-designer lady-friend seem to be really tight, and from what I hear he doesn't wander. Believe me, there are a few professors here who think they're quite the lady-killers. Sometimes they're all over you. Pym isn't quite like that."

"Not quite?" I said, emphasizing the last word.

Jean stirred uneasily, obviously not sure what to say. The three of us were sitting in a cluster of easy chairs that faced a big bay window. It faced firmly away from Piedmont and gave us a pretty decent view of downtown.

"I've never been in Pym's mind," Jean said carefully. "I do try to respect people's privacy. But there's something about him that doesn't seem right."

Marie and I exchanged a glance. "I think I know what you're talking about," Marie said. "There's a strange feel to him. I'd never turn my back on him."

I found myself nodding in agreement. Then I stopped myself. "Look, do you know anything about Pym that's more definite? Has he ever actually done anything wrong that you know about?"

Jean smiled - which was like the sun breaking through clouds. "Well... he's got a reputation as a tough grader. Getting an 'A' in one of his classes is apparently quite an achievement."

"A definite sign of incipient evil," I said dryly.

"It is if you're a college student," Jean pointed out with a laugh.

"Okay, so maybe Pym's nothing more than a cold fish who likes to check out your rack," Marie said, "but the bottom line is that he comes across as hinky, is connected to our case, and we need somebody to keep an eye on him. So how about it, Jeannie? We pay five bucks a day."

An interested look came over Jean's face. Then she hesitated.

"I'm not going to read minds for you," she said flatly, looking at me as she spoke. "Back when I helped Marie find you, I was pretty free with my powers because lives were at stake. Otherwise, I try not to use them too often."

I held up a hand. "We understand and we're not asking you to do that. We need someone who's a regular on campus to become Pym's shadow. It's not an all-day thing. Just check up on him every few hours. See what he's doing and who he's talking to. Maybe you could ask a few low-key questions and see what the other students know about him."

"Okay, you've got a deal," Jean said decisively, "but what are you going to be doing while I'm pinning a tail on Professor Pym?"

I grimaced. "We'll be checking out all of the other locations on that list. It's going to be a long grind."

* * *

And that was pretty much how it went. Marie and I spent the rest of the day driving from location-to-location, checking out the empty offices that had been the delivery points for the items on Tony's list. We talked to locals and neighbors, hoping to find something to work with.

We got almost nothing. The story was the same everywhere we went. A pair of faceless nobodies would set up shop for a day or two, pretending to be a new business. They would keep to themselves, politely brush off any questions, and then vanish.

On the other hand, we had a set of consistent descriptions.

"Two men," Marie summarized. She was checking our notes as we drove back to the office. "One a tall and skinny blond, and a medium-sized guy with a strong build, dark hair, and pock marks on one side of his face. Both were dressed in off-the-rack business suits. The tall, skinny guy wears glasses, does most of the talking, and has a New England accent."

"It's not much, but at least it's something," I suggested.

Marie nodded. "I'll check with the cops tomorrow morning. Maybe that description will ring a bell with someone."

When we're asking the cops for help, that's a sure sign we're at a dead end.

* * *

The lights were on at the office. It was nine p.m. when we got there, but Sooraya was still at her desk. Sometimes she just doesn't know when to quit.

Josh Foley was also present. He's Hassim's father, but he's not Sooraya's husband. It's a long story.

Josh and Sooraya were using chopsticks to pick at takeout containers of Chinese food. Sooraya had her blouse unbuttoned and Hassim was feeding from her with a great deal more enthusiasm. Josh nodded at us expressionlessly. I don't think he has a problem with Marie and I, but we first met him at a really bad time in his life. I think we remind him of things he'd much rather forget.

Marie dropped our notes on Sooraya's desk. It was Sooraya's job to organize, type, and file them. Then Marie petted the mop of startlingly thick black hair that was on top of Hassim's head.

"Greedy guts," she chided Hassim softly. He didn't reply.

"You have no idea," Sooraya responded, obviously exasperated.

"He's gonna grow up to be a big one," I said.

"Let's just hope he doesn't end up like Fred Dukes," Marie said as she collapsed onto the couch.

A slightly disapproving look appeared on Sooraya's face as she handed me a note. "Miss Grey left a message for you," she said.

I glanced at the note and immediately saw what was bothering Sooraya. She'd survived the Egyptian, she'd adjusted to having a pair of lesbians for bosses, but there were some things about this world she'd found herself in that she would never approve of.

The note said: "Call me. We might have to talk to Emma."

* * *

Despite the hour, Jean picked up the phone on the second ring.

"Hi," she said softly. I could tell already that something was bothering her.

"What's up, Jean?" I asked. "And why do we have to talk to Emma?"

She paused for a moment before answering. "I said you might have to talk to Emma. It's your call. She may know something useful about Pym."

I frowned. I couldn't really imagine Emma and Pym running in the same circles. On the other hand, Emma might very well know Janet. Was that the connection?

"How does Emma know Henry Pym?" I asked skeptically.

Jean took a deep breath before answering. "Dr. Pym is a member of the Hellfire Club. Somebody from the club - a flunky - showed up at his office to deliver a message and I recognized him. When I got home, I asked Emma if she knew Dr. Pym. It turns out she does."

* * *

I left everyone else at the office and headed over to Emma's apartment. Marie had her doubts, but she eventually grudgingly relented and let me go. Things between Emma and Marie are far better than they used to be, but hostilities still haven't completely ceased. They probably never will.

The doorman at Emma's apartment building recognized me - I've been in and out of Emma's place a few times. And Emma must have told him that I was on the way. As soon as he saw me, he wordlessly waved me towards the elevators.

Up in the penthouse, Emma answered the door. She was dressed all in white (no surprise), but had on a long evening gown and a white-mink shoulder wrap. She was obviously dressed for a night on the town. And yet she was just as obviously waiting for me.

"Hello, Dom," Emma purred at me. Jean was standing in the background, dressed like she planned to spend the night studying. She and I exchanged a glance. Jean had a wryly rueful expression on her face. It's tough to keep secrets from Emma, so I didn't hold it against Jean that Emma knew something was up.

"I am on my way to the Hellfire Club. As I understand it, Dr. Pym will be there. Would you care to join me?" Emma asked.

I should have turned around and walked away just as soon as I heard the triumph in Emma's voice.

* * *

"Does Jean know about the Hellfire club?" I asked.

We were in the back of Emma's Rolls Royce, heading downtown. I didn't recognized the chauffeur. They tend to come and go. Off-hand, I don't think I've ever been in Emma's Rolls and the same person was driving as before.

"Yes," Emma said serenely as she handed me a glass of champagne that probably cost a small fortune. I gave it an appreciative sip. I'm not much on ridiculously over-priced luxury, but if someone else is paying for it...

"How could she not?" Emma continued. "She knows me better than anyone else in the world. Jean is more tough-minded than you give her credit for, Dom."

I raised an eyebrow. "Does she know that the Inner Circle of Hellfire Club were the people who kidnapped her and Doc Xavier?"

I first met Emma when she walked into my office and told me a pack of lies about a missing Charles Xavier. Then she hired me to find and save her "old friend of the family". I eventually found a very un-missing Charles Xavier training a new and powerful psychic - Jean Grey. At which point the Inner Circle mercenaries I'd unwittingly led right to Charles and Jean opened up on us with chemical mortars.

At the time, Emma was a member of the Inner Circle of the Hellfire Club. They believed some crazy prophecy that a powerful psychic would someday become a world-destroying entity. They called it the Phoenix. For some reason or other, they thought Jean might be the person who would bring the Phoenix to our world.

Yeah, it sounds crazy, but Emma believes it to this day. She once told me she was shacking up with Jean for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on her. I suppose the hot sex with one of the most beautiful women I've ever met is just a fringe benefit.

"As a matter of fact, Jean is quite aware of that," Emma said steadily.

I locked eyes with Emma. It's tough to force Emma to talk when she doesn't want to, but it can be done.

"I've been as honest with Jean as I can be," Emma said after a long pause and another sip from her glass.

"Still worried about the Phoenix?" I asked, doing my best to keep any trace of mockery out of my voice. That Emma - of all people - could believe in that kind of horseshit is amazing to me.

Emma gave me a hard look. "I am very worried about the Phoenix. I will be until the day I die."

I let it drop. It was too much like arguing about religion.

"So how does Dr. Henry Pym fit into the Hellfire Club?" I asked.

Emma shrugged. "Like many of us, Dr. Pym inherited his membership. However, he was never a member of the Inner Circle. As near as I can tell, he attends our functions for the fun of it and nothing else. To be frank, his family no longer has the money and influence required to be considered a part of the club's elite. And that might be a mistake on the part of our more powerful players - the man is a genius."

"What do you know about him?"

"As I said, he comes from old money, although the family has fallen on relatively hard times. His parents are deceased and he has no brothers or sisters. He has multiple degrees from some of the finest schools in the country. His specialty is exotic biophysics, but he has a penchant for engineering. He's a bit socially awkward - a common problem among high intellects - but has friends and has managed to secure the very desirable Janet Van Dyne as a companion. He is currently teaching at State University and is working on a project that involves simulating the structure of the human brain in electrical form."

"That's... pretty good," I said slowly. "In fact, very good. How do you happen to know so much about him?"

"Dom - the Hellfire Club is a pool of sharks," Emma said with a cold smile. "If you want to swim in it, you should be prepared."

A thought occurred to me. "What do you know about Janet?"

This time, Emma seemed to pause before answering. "She comes from an old family with a trifling amount of money and influence - never enough to become a part of the Hellfire Club, of course. Her father is a judge and her mother is involved in some kind of charitable work. She has become a fashion designer of some note. I own some of her work, but it really isn't daring enough for my tastes. In her younger days, she was a bit of a player among the wilder elements her college social group. She met Dr. Pym about two years ago."

I sighed. "What does Janet see in him? I mean... he's handsome enough, but there's something about him that seems... I dunno, kind of cold and closed-off? He just doesn't seem like Janet's type."

Dam stared at me for a second, a tiny and knowing smile on her lips. "Perhaps you will find out tonight."

* * *

The Rolls pulled into the grounds of the Hellfire Club's mansion. The city had long-since developed completely around the property, but the club has never budged or sold off any of its land. The mansion's grounds consisted of dozens of acres of meticulously maintained park-like woods, surrounded by a high wall of thick stone that was topped with sharp iron spikes.

Rich people doing rich things doesn't intimidate me, but when I looked out of Emma's limousine I suddenly got nervous. There were dozens of cars parked in front of the mansion and Emma's Rolls Royce didn't stand out. A scatter of people - late arrivals like us - were walking towards the mansion. The younger folk had the sleek, handsome, and well-groomed appearance of the children of the very rich and very powerful. The older people were at least carrying some wrinkles and a few extra pounds, but even then they moved with a sureness the defied their age.

Maybe those kind of people really are better than the rest of us. God knows, they certainly think so.

It was how they were dressed that threw me. Some were dressed like Emma, in the height of modern fashion. Others were wearing clothes that harkened back to the eighteenth century. A few were wearing full body cloaks. All of them were wearing ball masks - the kind that obscures your upper face and is held on with adhesive.

I was dressed for work in a gray suit and a pair of worn-down, but quite comfortable, leather shoes. Even my tie was less than decorative. And it had a blood stain on it that I couldn't quite seem to get completely washed out. To say the least, I'd stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.

"No way I'm fitting in with this crowd," I told Emma sourly. That wasn't a fashion-concern on my part. I just prefer to blend in when I'm on the prowl for information. People shut up around someone who doesn't seem to be a part of the pack.

Emma was peering into a hand mirror as she examined the mask she had just put on.

"Actually, you have an outfit that's quite suitable," Emma said distractedly as she made a minute adjustment to her mask.

I just shook my head as I looked out the window.

At the door to the mansion, two flunkies dressed like royal footmen were holding the door for an elderly couple and two cloaked figures. I recognized the man. He owned one of the bigger east-coast railroads.

Then the two hooded figures took off their cloaks. They were two very pretty girls - one black and one white. And they were naked except for their masks and matching high heels.

The footmen took the elderly couple's coats, and the girls' cloaks, and then handed them off to a maid who was standing just inside the door. Meanwhile, the older couple locked collars and leashes around the girls' necks. The woman smiled at the one she was handling and gave her kiss on the lips and a firm slap on the ass.

I was still staring when Emma handed me a mask and a pair of high heels.

"These are a pair of Jean's that are a bit too big for her," she said calmly. "I think they'll fit you."

I glared at Emma.

"You are out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to do this," I snarled at her.

* * *

So there I was, stark naked except for a stupid mask and Jean's shoes. And Emma had a collar around my neck and my leash in her hand. She was enjoying herself entirely too much.

The footmen didn't even seem to notice me, although they did fawn all over Emma. I guess this was just another day at the office to them. Or maybe they were gay.

"How long have you been planning this?" I whispered as we got past the footmen and into the mansion.

"Since almost the first second I met you," Emma said with an air of vast satisfaction.

"This isn't going to work," I repeated for maybe the tenth time.

Emma sighed. "Really, Dom, you're becoming tiresome. All you have to do is keep silent and watch. Actually, your station here doesn't really give you many other options. This is going to be some of the easiest investigative work you've ever done. And who knows what useful secrets you might learn tonight? Some might prove valuable even after your current case is finished."

Once we got past the foyer, we entered the cavernous main hall. It had been fitted out for a party and was filled with dozens of people. About half of them - male and female both - were naked and on the end of a leash. Up on the balcony that overlooked the hall, a band was playing some soft and slow jazz. A hazy cloud of tobacco and marijuana smoke drifted above the crowd. In the middle of the room, couples in various stages of dress and undress clung to each other on a dance floor.

Curtained alcoves flanked the room. As we passed one of them, I heard the sounds of some very enthusiastic screwing, complete with a young man's voice loudly moaning about the wonderful hugeness his lover's dick.

Emma smiled thinly and shook her head. "I know who that is. And, trust me, the member in question is of no more than average size."

Then she gave me a critical look. "You obviously don't know what to do with your hands. Put them by your sides. Try not to look like such a rookie."

It turned out that my hands were nervously clasped in front of me. I didn't realize I was doing that. It took some effort, but I did as Emma asked.

Then Emma hooked a finger in my collar, dragged my face to hers, and kissed me. And it was none of that peck-on-the-cheek stuff. It was the real thing. My mouth opened immediately and her tongue began a long, leisurely, exploration. She tasted of fine champagne and the faintest trace of expensive tobacco.

And, suddenly, my hands were on the side of her face, holding her in place. Meanwhile, her hands were sliding over my bare body.

There were a few chuckles and other sounds of approval from around us. Apparently we were quite the spectacle.

We eventually broke apart. And with our faces inches from one another, we looked into each other's eyes. Hers were cold and clear and blue, like always. But this time is seemed like there was something distracted in them.

"That brought back old memories," I said, trying not to let my voice shake.

"I wish..." Emma began - and then stopped. And did my ears deceive me or did Emma Frost, woman of iron and ice, sardonic viewer of the contemptible human condition, and breaker of countless hearts, also seem to speak with a bit of a tremor?

"We have things to do," Emma finally finished, her words now steady and sure. Then she made a point of putting some space between us.

"Hello, Emma," a familiar voice said.

Emma turned to greet the person who had spoken. I damn near had a heart attack.

She was wearing a ball mask, but it didn't conceal who she was.

Ororo. Dear God in heaven, it was Ororo.

* * *

A fellow named Logan runs the biggest gang in town. His senior people are all like him - people with powers. Two of them are Ororo and Warren Worthington. Ororo and Warren are an unlikely couple, but they've been together for years.

Warren, strangely enough, comes from a family that's richer than hell. So it made complete sense that he had a key to the Hellfire Club. Over Ororo's shoulder, I could see Warren on the far side of the room. He was having an animated - and angry - talk with a couple of men. Ororo had apparently gotten bored and wandered away.

Ororo was wearing a long, flowing, black and gold gown. A side slit on her dress showed a lot of very attractive leg. The outfit contrasted well with her white hair and light brown skin.

"Hello, Ororo," Emma smiled. "I didn't realize that you and Warren would be here tonight. What brings Logan's representatives to our humble little affair?"

Ororo shrugged, her eyes on Emma's face and ignoring me completely. "The usual. We are reminding the rich and fatuous of the limits of their power. Right now, Warren is letting somebody know that they really should not try and compete with our smuggling operations."

Emma glanced towards where Warren was standing. "I'm afraid the men Warren is talking with are even more arrogant and stupid than normal. I don't think your warning will succeed."

"Then there will be consequences," Ororo replied with a chuckle. "Actually, I rather hope so."

Then Ororo looked at me.

"I like this one," Ororo said idly, her eyes roaming up and down my bare body. "Is she new?"

I relaxed, forcing my posture into something feminine, graceful, and as submissive as someone like me could manage. Actually, that wasn't too hard to do in the aftermath of Emma's kiss. Parts of me happened to be feeling very, very, feminine at the moment.

"Yes, she's new," Emma said as she put a hand on my bare shoulder and squeezed gently.

"Remarkable complexion," Ororo said thoughtfully, talking about me as if I wasn't right there. "So pale that, in a certain light, it might seem like a shade of light blue. And the scars give her a certain character. She is familiar with violence. And not scared of it. Not many women are like that."

Then Ororo locked eyes with me. She knew precisely who I was. And she wanted to know if I was there of my own free will. If she didn't like the answer, I suspected all hell was going to break loose.

I took a step forward and took Ororo firmly by the shoulders. The kiss I gave her was as wild and enthusiastic as the one Emma and I had just shared. And maybe a part of me was just trying to put Emma in her place by kissing Ororo. But no matter what, it was a lot of fun - particularly that moment when a very surprised Ororo seemed to melt against me.

"It's okay," I eventually whispered in Ororo's ear. Then I licked it for good measure.

By then, Ororo was smiling. She looked into my eyes, then back at Emma. "I really must get back to Warren."

Emma nodded, "Of course. It was good to see you, Ororo."

* * *

Emma handed me some tissue from her purse. "Clean off your face," she ordered tartly. "You have lipstick all over yourself."

"None of it's mine," I said as I scrubbed my lips and lower face. "I never wear the stuff."

"Precisely," Emma responded acidly.

She was jealous. Score one for me.

"I'm just playing my role of a typical Hellfire Club slattern," I responded with a grin.

"You do seem to have a talent for it," Emma shot back.

Then she paused and took a deep breath. "Go fetch us a pair of drinks - I'll have a dry vodka martini with one olive. Meanwhile, I'll see if I can find out where Pym is."

Emma handed me the end of my leash. I'd already noticed that when someone with a leash walked away from whoever they were with, the leashee simply wrapped it the rest of the way around their neck to keep it out of the way. So I did the same, the loop on the holder's end dangled between my breasts.

It's amazing how quickly you can adjust to things. The bar was near a side entrance to the hall. I wandered across the room stark naked... and all I could think about was how the high heels I was wearing really didn't fit me very well. It didn't help that I only wear heels once or twice a year. Unlike Marie, I've never really acquired the knack of walking in them. My feet were beginning to hurt.

"Russki martini light. One green," I told the bartender - a middle-aged, but buxomly handsome woman. Her ruffled shirt had wildly exaggerated collars and cuffs. "And a double bourbon neat."

"Domino?" someone said. The voice had the barest trace of Boston working class accent. I looked towards the voice and immediately recognized the naked woman standing next to me.

"These masks aren't worth a shit," I grumbled. The bartender actually paused in what she was doing and laughed.

I knew the girl who'd just spoken to me. A while back, Marie and I bumped into her while we were on a case. She went out of her way to help us when it might have cost her a lot to do that. She helped us because someone she owed was in trouble and needed a hand. I didn't care how she made a living, people who do stuff like that are solid in my book.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I never caught your name," I told her.

"Olivia," she replied as she put a tall glass lined with red residue on the bar. "Bloody Mary - lots of veggies," she told the bartender. The bartender nodded.

"Are you here with Percy?" I asked. A fellow named Percy Andrews had been her meal-ticket the last time we met.

Olivia rolled her eyes - which has an interestingly exaggerated effect when you're wearing a ball mask. "He's in one of the back rooms, hopped up on morphine. So he won't be having much use for me tonight - except for helping him get back home. Right now I'm just having a few free drinks and trying to avoid the more touchy-feely rich farts."

"Watch it," the bartender warned, not bothering to look up from her work.

Olivia waved a hand apologetically. "Sorry. I'm just having a few free drinks and trying to avoid the more touchy-feely of our esteemed Hellfire Club masters."

"That's better," the bartender said approvingly as she got to work on Olivia's drink. The drinks I'd ordered were on the bar in front of me. I took a sip from mine... and couldn't help but nod approvingly. It was a fine bourbon, smooth and smoky. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that the Hellfire Club served the good stuff.

"Hey, Olivia," I asked, "do you know a guy named Pym? Henry Pym. He's a prof at the university. I hear he's a member."

"Sure," Olivia replied matter-of-factly. "He's Janet's guy."

"What do you know about them?"

Olivia frowned thoughtfully. "He's been coming here for as long as I remember. Percy shared me with him a couple of times back before he took up with Janet. Hank likes the rough stuff, but he's polite about it. He asks first and doesn't go beyond what you've asked him not to do. I wish everyone else here was like that."

"And Janet?" I prodded.

"I'm surprised you don't know. Janet and Pym are an item. They've been together a couple of years."

I took another drink as I considered what Olivia had said.

"So you're saying..." I said, letting my words drag out.

"He likes it rough. She likes it rough," Olivia replied. "They give each other what they need."

I think I made a face.

"At the moment, we're both naked and pretty trash for rich people," Olivia reminded me quietly. "We really don't have the right to judge anyone."

Okay, maybe it was more complex than that, but Olivia had a point.

"You're right," I said. "Sorry."

"What's going to be sorry is you two if you don't get away from my bar and back to work," the bartender warned us grumpily. "Go find someone to entertain or I'll tan both of your fine little asses a deep shade of red."

Olivia and I grabbed our drinks and moved out. As we skirted the dance floor, we had to dodge a happily twirling couple. Their eyes were closed and they were in a world of their own. One of them was a small, iron-haired, and slender woman dressed in a black satin dress that was about a decade out of style. Her partner was a naked boy easily a third of her age. I found myself hoping he was at least out of his teens, but I wasn't willing to bet on it.

After that, we stepped around two older men who were enthusiastically comparing their latest cocaine acquisitions. One of them casually groped Olivia's ass as we walked past. She gave him a dazzling smile... and then grabbed my arm just in time to keep me from breaking the bastard's nose.

"Stop it," Olivia told me firmly as she dragged me away. "These assholes have real power. You don't want to piss any of them off."

I took a deep breath and nodded my head. Olivia let go of my arm, pulled a stalk of celery out of her drink, and took a crunchy bite.

"You haven't asked why I'm here," I said to Olivia.

Olivia was still munching on celery. "I'm guessing you're here on a case and that it involves Pym. The only thing I can't figure out is what it has to do with Miss Frost and Miss Munroe. I saw that show you put on with them. You're a dynamite kisser, Domino."

I winced. "Want to do me a favor and not spread it around that I'm here on a case?"

Olivia shrugged. "Who the heck would I tell? People here don't think my mouth is for talking."

* * *

"Who was that?" Emma asked. She was holding her drink in one had and the end of my leash in the other.

"Her name's Olivia. She's a working girl who's with Percy Andrews."

Emma made a face. "That's right - I knew I'd seen her before. She has abysmal taste in masters."

I let the word 'masters' slide. "Yeah."

"Did she have anything interesting to say?" Emma persisted.

"Not really," I replied quickly. "Just some gossip. Percy has a morphine problem,"

I was trying to give Emma an interesting tidbit. Emma is pretty free with her powers - unlike Jean or Xavier. If she decided Olivia was a problem, or knew too much, she might very well decide to wipe Olivia's recent memory. I wasn't sure I wanted that.

Emma looked disgusted - I've always had the impression she doesn't approve of hard drugs. "Yes. Well that will make your friend's job easier. At least for a while."

"Did you find out anything?" I asked.

Emma gave me a strange look.

* * *

Okay, it was no surprise that the rest of the mansion was devoted to even wilder forms of sin and debauchery than what I'd already seen.

When you thought about the party in the main hall - with it's casually naked servants, open drug use, and alcoves where the rich and famous could be provided with a quick orgasm - then what went on elsewhere in the mansion had to be pretty extreme.

Look, I wasn't completely taken by surprise by what I'd seen so far. I'd heard stories about the Hellfire Club for years. But there's always a difference between hearing a story and seeing the truth with your own eyes. Until then, I just wasn't sure how much of what I'd heard was real and how much was fantasy.

It turned out that everything I'd heard - no matter how wild - was true.

Emma and I entered a room that was only lit by a single, bright spotlight. The margins of the room were dark and crowded with couches. The layout made it difficult for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. What happened in any given couch would remain a mystery, even if you were sitting adjacent to it. But a few quiet moans gave you all the clues you needed.

A servant escorted us to an empty couch - there was a dull light on their arms that illuminated nothing, and was shielded when someone took possession. Emma and I sat together. Neither of us said anything about it, but from the moment we sat down, we were right next to each other. We were holding hands and our bodies were pressed together.

In the middle of the room, under that bright and merciless light, Janet Van Dyne was suspended by her wrists. Chains ran up from her manacles and into the darkness above and she was only barely able to touch the floor with her toes. She wasn't wearing any clothes.

Two men - one of them Henry Pym - were standing to either side of Janet. They had viciously thin switches in their hands, and were taking turns using them on Janet. Janet's face was torn between pain and ecstasy. Sometimes one. Sometimes the other. Sometimes both.

"Thank you, master!" Janet kept moaning, over and over. Depending on what was being done to her, sometimes she whispered it, sometimes she screamed it.

The analytical part of my mind put some facts together. The way Janet had been dressed the other day had been subtly off. She'd been wearing an outfit with long sleeves, a high collar, and a skirt that went down to her ankles. It wasn't quite right for the weather. Now I knew why. It was designed to hide the marks on her body.

Janet's skin was a tangled roadmap of marks. Some were brand new, some were days old.

Shaking with revulsion, I got to my feet and left.

I was disgusted with Pym. Disgusted with Janet. Disgusted with Emma. Disgusted with the human race.

And, most of all, I was disgusted with myself.

* * *

"Give me a triple this time," I told the bartender.

She gave me a long look. "You saw something bad?"

I snorted bitterly.

"I know you're new," she told me quietly, and not without sympathy. "So you get one drink - and just one drink. And you have fifteen minutes to get yourself together. Then, after that, you put a pretty smile on that pretty face and get your pretty ass back out there. Do you understand?"

I nodded as I leaned against the bar. The drink the bartender poured me was pretty generous. I was grateful for that.

Before I became a private eye, I was a soldier, a spy, a cop, and a gangster. I've seen stuff that was by any reasonable definition far, far worse than what was happening to Janet. Hell, I've _done_ stuff that was worse.

Why did it bother me so much? Janet was an adult and this was apparently something she wanted. And as far as I knew, she could walk away from it at any time.

Emma stood next to me. The bartender stiffened immediately, her eyes suddenly bright with fear.

"Hello, Cindy," Emma said to her.

"Ma'am... it's good to see you," the bartender - Cindy - choked out.

Emma pointed at my drink. "Give us the bottle."

"Yes, ma'am," Cindy replied quickly.

The bottle appeared almost immediately. So did a glass for Emma. Cindy carefully poured for Emma. When she finished pouring, Emma touched her on the back of the hand.

Cindy froze.

"It's been a long time," Emma said to her.

"Yes, mistress," Cindy whispered as she stared at Emma. They say some kinds of snakes can mesmerize birds. This looked like that.

Then Emma leaned over and gave Cindy a peck on the cheek. The expression that came over Cindy's face was an elegant mixture of fear and desire.

"You'd best get back to work," Emma told her.

Cindy nodded jerkily and walked quickly over to other end of the bar. A pair of Chinese girls wearing formal courtesan makeup - and nothing else - were chatting amiably in Mandarin as they dropped off some drinks to be refilled. They both went silent and averted their eyes when they saw Emma. One made a ancient Buddhist gesture with her hand. It was intended to ward off evil.

"You're pretty well known around here," I noted. Maybe there was a sarcastic edge to my words.

Emma nodded and downed her drink without hesitation. The whiskey didn't seem to faze her.

My drink was gone. Emma poured me another.

"The hardest part is accepting that you sometimes enjoy what you see here," she told me.

I was about to deny everything, but then I realized who I was talking to.

You just can't lie to Emma Frost.

I finished my drink again. Emma didn't pour me another, and Cindy was keeping her distance, so I filled my glass by myself.

"Who's the other guy?" I asked harshly. I'd gulped down too much whiskey, way too fast, and my throat was raw. And the world was getting wobbly.

Emma seemed puzzled.

"The other guy with Pym and Janet. Who is he?"

Emma's face cleared.

"His name is Trask," she told me. "Bolivar Trask."

* * *

It was something like four in the morning when I finally got home. Emma and I had killed the bottle together. I was still drunk.

Marie was waiting for me. She was curled up on the couch with a book in her hands. As she got to her feet, she smiled tiredly and shook her head at my state.

"So have you finally cheated on me?" she asked as I collapsed into the easy chair. She was still smiling.

"No," I responded as I kicked off my shoes, "but, as always with Emma, it was touch and go."

"What happened?" Marie as she sat on the arm of the chair and began loosening my tie.

"Emma took me to the Hellfire Club and made me run around bareass naked. And I learned a lot more about Janet Van Dyne and Henry Pym know than I really wanted to know."

Marie looked mildly shocked. "The Hellfire Club?"

By now my jacket and shirt was off. I was relieved to note that I hadn't left my bra in the back of Emma's car. After some thought, I reassured myself that I was wearing my panties.

"That place is just as crazy as they say," I said with a shake of my head.

"I know," Marie nodded.

It took me a second to process that. "Wait... you've been there?"

Marie nodded again. "Yep. Back when I worked for Logan. Warren and I would visit every now and then - he's a member. Normally it was to let people know that they shouldn't forget about us. The people at the Hellfire Club are pretty sure they rule the world. Our job was to remind them that wasn't true."

My pants were gone and... yes... I actually did have my panties on. Good for me.

"Ororo has your old job. She was there with Warren."

"How is she?" Marie asked. By now my panties and socks were gone.

"I had to kiss her in order to whisper a message in her ear. We both really liked it. You know, you really should be pissed at me."

"Maybe later," Marie laughed. "It's hard to get mad at someone for the things they did at the Hellfire Club. That place has a knack for taking away your inhibitions. I've got some stories of my own about that place."

I shook my head.

Then Marie was kneeling in front of me, looking girlishly innocent in her white, ankle-length, nightdress. The blaze of white in her hair seemed particularly intense. Grabbing me by the hips, she yanked me forward until my bare ass was perched right on the edge of the chair. Then she opened my legs very wide.

"Sugar, let me remind you why you shouldn't bother yourself with other women," Marie told me huskily, her breath warm on my inner thighs.

I closed my eyes as Marie went to work.

Then I let out a low, gasping cry. It was the first of many.

* * *

I called Sooraya the next morning and gave her something to work on. Then I took a few aspirin and went back to bed. Marie and I slept in until ten. Then we made love one more time, showered together, got dressed, and finally deigned to show up at work.

"Bolivar Trask is a noted industrialist," Sooraya told us as she examined some notes and paperwork on her desk. "He lives in Philadelphia, but visits here often. Trask International is considered to be a major competitor to Stark Industries, but it is understood that Stark International has the upper hand in their dealings. Mr. Trask's latest projects include a new radio for Navy and Air Corps aircraft and a number of highly efficient electrical generator designs. He has several facilities here in town, but none of them are very large and they are all focused on research."

"Mr. Trask was married, but is now divorced. His estranged wife lives in New York city. They have a son. He is ten years old and attends a private school in New Hampshire."

"Did anything odd turn up during the divorce?" I asked suddenly.

Both Marie and Sooraya gave me an odd look.

"I'm sorry, Miss Domino, but I'm not sure what you mean," Sooraya said. She was obviously puzzled.

"Any juicy gossip?" I explained. "Was he cheating on her? Did he drink? Did he beat her?"

I tried not to put any emphasis on anything I'd said.

"The divorce was on the grounds of mutual incompatibility," Sooraya said. "I didn't find anything otherwise in the gossip columns."

Sooraya was turning into a cracker-jack library researcher. I nodded my head, took another sip of coffee, and made a gesture indicating she should go on.

"I found two things of note during my research. Mr. Trask is often seen with Dr. Pym whenever he happens to be in town. Dr. Pym sometimes consults for Mr. Trask, but they also appear to be friends. They've known each other since their college days."

"Is Trask seeing anybody?" I interrupted.

This time Sooraya didn't hesitate. "Since his divorce, Mr. Trask has had the usual assignations you might expect for a man of his wealth. They are mostly actresses, models, and other professionally beautiful women. None of those relationships have lasted very long."

"If any of those girls are local, I want their names," I said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Miss Domino," Sooraya replied as she made a note.

"You said there were two oddball things you noticed about Trask," Marie noted. "What's the second?"

"Mr. Trask is apparently interested in the subject of people with powers - mutants as some people call them."

"Interested how?" I growled, suddenly sure how this was going to go.

Sooraya took a deep breath. "He feels that mutants and non-mutants are a threat to each other. He is of the opinion that one side will inevitably destroy or enslave the other. He has made this argument in a number of small journals, public conversations, and letters to the editor of various publications. He has not made any specific suggestions on how to deal with the situation."

Marie shook her head. "This again," she muttered to herself.

* * *

All over the world, anti-mutant sentiment is on the rise. It has been ever since the Depression started. If you ask me, hard times creates a need for scapegoats.

However, our city... our grimy, crappy, decrepit, little cesspool of a town... is an oasis of human-mutant harmony.

Okay, I couldn't actually manage to say that with a straight face. Let me try again.

This town is really run by the biggest local crime boss. That's a guy named Logan. And, trust me on this, Logan is one of the most dangerous things on two legs that you'll ever meet.

Logan has decreed that normal people and people with powers are not to screw with each other. At least not in an organized, political kind of way. He thinks it's bad for business. If you mess with that rule, then you are messing with Logan. Messing with Logan is a really bad idea. So peace - of a sort - is the rule here. And that peace steadily attracts more and more powered people to our fair city. We have more mutants in this town than anywhere else on Earth.

And it's all due to that short, hairy, smelly, ugly, bastard of a Canadian gangster.

* * *

Sooraya came up with a list of three local women who'd dated Bolivar Trask. Two of them weren't available. Marie and I paid a visit to the third. Her parents had named her Mary McGraw, but her professional name was Sarah Night. She was a peroxide blonde with a spectacular figure. You could tell by the fleshiness around her eyes that she was in a constant battle to avoid gaining too much weight. So far, she was winning.

"Private eyes? Really?" Sarah asked, eyeing us both with obvious amusement.

Sarah was working for the biggest local radio station, but I had the impression that it wasn't a high-paying job. We'd caught her at a late lunch break. She was eating a salad that looked a little wilted. I found myself hoping she hadn't paid too much for it.

"Really," I confirmed.

She cocked her head at me. "So you're the cynical, tough-as-nails, gumshoe and she's the beautiful, loyal, secretary who secretly has the hots for you?"

I was honestly taken aback by that. Once upon a time, that had been dead true.

"Actually, I'm her partner," Marie answered, apparently unfazed by what Sarah had said. "And there's nothing secret about how I feel for her."

Sarah nodded as she used her fork to extract some lettuce from between her front teeth.

"Rug-munchers, huh? I drive a stick myself, but to each his own. What can I do for you?"

By now it was obvious that there wasn't much of a gap between whatever Sarah was thinking and what was coming out of her mouth. Questioning somebody like that is either really easy or really frustrating.

"We understand you used to date Bolivar Trask," I said.

She nodded immediately. "We went out a few times. Nothing serious and part of it was maybe just for show. A single guy his age has to be seen with women or people start talking. What's this about?"

"Does that really matter?" Marie asked as she put a ten dollar bill on the table. That was about five dollars more than I would have started with, but Marie's always been a bit generous with that sort of thing.

Sarah eyed the green thoughtfully. "I guess it doesn't. What do you want to know?"

"Anything interesting about your time with him?" I asked.

Sarah shrugged. "He likes blowjobs."

"You've just described every man on earth," I sighed. Marie tried not to smile.

Sarah grinned. "I guess you're right. Okay, how about this. We met in a fancy bar down on Independence Avenue and went out maybe four or five times. He was pretty generous and always showed me a good time - we went to some really nice places. I started sleeping with him after the second date. He was rich, good looking, and not bad in the sack. I guess I was hoping I might be able to get something long-term going with him, but he eventually stopped calling. And I'm not inclined to beg a man for his company, so that was the end of it."

"How did he treat you?" Marie asked.

She took a moment to think about that. "A little free with his hands after we started sleeping together. Otherwise he was okay. I guess he was on the distant side, but I can see how a man in his position might get like that. Once you have money, I suppose everyone wants a part of it. I sure did."

"What are his politics?" I asked.

"He's a Roosevelt Democrat. Thinks government spending is what we need to get us out of the Depression. Of course, he expects to get some of that government money for himself, so maybe that's not so surprising. Like you might expect, he knows some bigshots. He once postponed a date with me because he had to meet with a Senator named Kelly."

"Does he have any extreme opinions?" I interjected.

Sarah examined my face closely before answering. "He doesn't like your kind."

"'My kind'?"

"People with powers. He thinks you want to take over."

"What makes you think we have powers?" Marie asked curiously.

Sarah nodded at me and then looked back at Marie. "Your friend's obvious - just look at her skin color. And you have the look as well. Your kind can do things that normal people can't. That scares normal folks and you're kinda cocky about it. As near as I can tell, you all have that look about you."

Marie didn't say anything, but she seemed to examine Sarah thoughtfully.

"Does Trask have any opinions on how to save your kind from my kind?" I asked.

"He never said anything about that to me. He's just pretty sure that someday there's going to be some kind of war."

"He knows somebody named Henry Pym. Ever meet him?"

Sarah's face got tight. "Hank? Oh, yeah. He's some sort of college professor. Bolivar and I went out on a double date with Hank and his lady friend. It was the opening show for a musical down in the theater district. Hank's girl is Janet Van Dyne - you know, the fashion designer?"

"How did that date go?" I asked.

Sarah hesitated.

"Something wrong?" Marie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I... felt kind of like the odd girl out," Sarah said slowly. "Bolivar and Hank and Janet were all... together. They were friends and I was an outsider. Which was strange since Janet is nothing like Bolivar and Hank. They're both really smart and maybe a little awkward with people, while Janet is this bundle of personality and energy. It was the only time I was with Bolivar when I felt like I was just eye candy."

"So they've known one another for some time?" I asked, mostly just to keep Sarah talking.

"I don't know, but it's like..." Then Sarah paused again, her brown eyes seeming to peer off into the distance.

Marie and I waited for Sarah to finish. People are social animals. We don't like to leave words hanging in a conversation.

"There's some kind of special connection between the three of them," Sarah said. "When Janet's around, Bolivar and Hank kind of light up, you know?"

"Are you saying the three of them are... uh... together?" Marie suggested.

Sarah shook her head slowly. "Maybe."

"When you were with Bolivar, did he want anything kinky?" I asked.

Marie's eyes flickered towards me, but she didn't say anything.

Sarah laughed. "Nothing too strange. Believe me, I've known guys who were weirder. A lot weirder in some cases."

"You said he was free with this hands," I reminded her.

"Yeah, but he kept it private. He's not one of those guys who grabs you in front of everyone so he can show people what a big man he is. He just likes to touch."

"Anything else?" I prompted.

Sarah suddenly chuckled. "Well... one night we were fooling around and I pushed some of his buttons just because I could - I guess that was right after our double date with Hank and Janet. And then the next thing I knew I was over his knee. He gave me a sound little spanking."

"It wasn't too bad?" I asked.

Believe it or not, bold-as-brass Sarah Night actually turned a little pink around the ears. "We then had a seriously hot fuck. If that's bad, I wouldn't mind more of it."

I played a hunch. "Was that your last date with Trask?"

Sarah shook her head. "We went out one more time, but it went kind of flat. He made an obvious excuse and dropped me off early. I never heard from him again - the bastard."

I put another ten on the table.

* * *

"What do you know that you're not telling me?" Marie asked after we got back to the car.

I told her what I'd seen in that back-room of the Hellfire Club.

"Oh..." Marie said with wide eyes.

"Oh," I repeated flatly.

Marie was silent for a while as she thought over what I'd told her.

"What does that have to do with what Tony hired us for?" she finally asked.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "That's a good question. I don't know. Maybe nothing. Remember what I told you about getting caught up in strange leads?"

When you investigate people, you sometimes discover odd things about them. An easy mistake is to decide that the weird thing you just unearthed must have something to do with the larger case. I once spent days trying to find the connection between an accountant's expensive taste for rare Asian art and the fact he was cooking the books where he worked. It turned out there was no connection at all. He was stealing the money to pay for his mother's hospital bills.

"Let's backtrack," Marie suggested. "So Tony hires us to investigate some odd shipments of specialized parts and equipment."

I nodded in agreement. This was a good game - it made you think about where you were, how you got there, and forced you to review the facts.

"We find out that some of the shipments are going to Pym at the University," I said.

"We talk to Pym," Marie continued, "and he tells us about his super-calculator - and we decide that he knows something more about what's going on than he's telling us."

I took the handoff. "We hire Jean to keep an eye on Pym, while we pursue other leads. She spots a Hellfire Club messenger boy paying Pym a visit. Jean recognizes him because Emma is so big in the Hellfire Club. Jean asks Emma some questions about Pym and the Hellfire Club, and then Emma contacts me."

Now it was Marie's turn. "You go with Emma to the Hellfire Club and get an eyeful of Janet and Pym's idea of a fun Saturday night. And it turns out that Trask is a part of it."

Back to me. "Trask is also a member of the Hellfire Club. Trask is a scientist and businessman and has lots of money. Trask also has an anti-mutant streak. Trask and Pym sometimes work together. Trask is part of a weird threesome - maybe sexual, maybe not - involving Pym and Janet."

"So where does that leave us?" Marie asked as she slowly ran her fingers through the white streak in her hair. She does that when she's thinking.

"Remember when we first talked to Pym and decided that he knew more than he was telling us?" I said thoughtfully.

Marie nodded.

"Who does Pym know who would be doing an engineering project that Pym would recognize from just a list of parts?"

"Trask," Marie said immediately.

"But Pym seemed to be surprised by what we showed him. So assuming this is about Trask, and Pym didn't know that Trask is up to something, what does Pym do next?"

"He has a talk with his good buddy Trask," Marie replied immediately.

"Let's see if Jean has anything for us," I suggested.

* * *

"Yes, I recognize him," Jean said. We'd just shown her a newspaper file picture of Bolivar Trask.

"Has Pym talked to him?" I asked eagerly. We needed a break in this case.

Jean gave me a surprised look. "They're talking right now. Trask showed up at Pym's laboratory just a half-hour ago."

* * *

Standing outside of Pym's laboratory, we could just barely hear shouting from inside. However, I couldn't make out any of the words.

"Go back to the student hall," I told Marie and Jean. "I don't want them to see all of us together."

Marie seemed rebellious at first, but gave in to the logic of the situation - it would be a good idea if Pym and Trask didn't know the faces of everyone on the team that was investigating them.

Once Jean and Marie were out of sight, I banged on the laboratory door. The shouting immediately died away. Then, after a brief pause, the door opened.

It was Pym. Trask was standing in the middle of the lab. Both men were red-faced and breathing hard. The tension between them was clearly visible.

Was it my imagination, or did Trask's face get even more angry when he saw me? I do look a little different from most people, and Sarah had recognized me as a mutant immediately. Was Trask just as eagle-eyed?

"Miss Domino," Pym said formally, "this is not a good time."

"I was hoping I could talk with you two about your current work," I asked.

Pym tried to hide it, but he winced. And Trask was suddenly paying even more attention to me.

"What do you think you know?" Pym asked, his tone of voice very flat. Pym has a bad case of smart-person's disease - the automatic assumption that everyone else is stupid.

"You're working on some kind of electronic brain," I said. "It's a machine that can do something akin to thinking. And Trask here has stolen or borrowed some of your ideas. He plans on building a mutant-hunting weapon with them."

* * *

I figured it out on the way to the laboratory. It helped when I remembered something that Emma had told me about Pym - that his current project was more than just a bigger and better calculator. He was actually working on something that imitated the human brain.

After that, everything suddenly fit together. However, I wasn't a hundred percent sure, so I didn't tell Jean and Marie what I thought was going on.

Pym gave me a long and startled look. Then he shook his head and stepped back from the door. "Come in," he said.

I hesitated.

Pym and Trask were full-grown men and neither was in bad shape, but they weren't fighters. They were scientists and desk-jockeys. I should be able to take either one of them - or both of them together - in any kind of a fair fight. And that wasn't even taking into account my penchant for wild strokes of luck, or that I was armed.

And yet I hesitated to be alone in the same room with them. I'd seen a different side to both men - a side that enjoyed making a woman scream. And if I walked into Pym's laboratory, I would be on their turf. Who knew what surprises they might have prepared for an intruder?

For a split-second, I once again saw that scene from the Hellfire Club mansion. Only this time it was me hanging by my wrists.

Suddenly, I wished I hadn't sent Marie and Jean away. It was hard to believe, but I realized that I was scared of Henry Pym and Bolivar Trask.

Keeping my face as expressionless as I could manage, I took a deep breath and stepped inside Henry Pym's lab.

A strange thought occurred to me. It was something that Sarah Night had said. She told Marie and I that 'our kind' - mutants - frightened ordinary people.

Was this how she felt around us?

Was this how Trask felt about us?

I was inside the lab, but I kept my hand on the door handle. I couldn't quite bring myself to close it.

Pym noticed. "Leave the door open," he said quietly.

"Hank..." Trask said warningly.

Pym shot Trask a harsh look.

"Hank, I can't let you do this," Trask said.

I flexed my hands in order to make the shaking stop. If it came down to it, I could quick-draw the .45 out of my shoulder-holster in almost no time at all.

Pym shook his head. "I've been thinking the same thing about you, Bolivar. Forget about your Sentinel project. We both know you won't go through with it."

The look on Trask's face turned hard and mean. Pym had just challenged the commitment of a fanatic to his cause. That tends not to end well.

"Saying that you want to defend us against mutants is just an abstraction," Pym continued. "It really means that you plan on killing them. But can you kill someone you love? With your own hands? With your own creations? I don't think so, Bolivar. You aren't that kind of man."

That was the dead-wrong thing to say. I could see murder in Trask's eyes as he glared at us. Then he went for a gun.

* * *

Trask was faster than you might expect, but nowhere near as fast as me. And, oddly enough, that's what saved his life. My semi-automatic was in my hand and leveled at Trask's chest before he even managed to put his hand inside his jacket. If he'd actually managed to get a weapon clear and pointed at least roughly in our direction, I would have shot him on the spot.

Trask's eyes went wide as he stared down the muzzle of my .45 and realized that he was just a tiny amount of trigger pressure away from residency in the morgue.

Pym looked from Trask to me - and then back again. He didn't seem frightened. Rather, he just looked disgusted with both of us.

"Put your hands where I can see them," I ordered Trask.

Trask slowly obeyed, but something about his attitude suggested that he didn't think he was out of options.

That was when a robot came through the wall.

* * *

Something hit the exterior brick wall - hard - and it ruptured inward. It was like an explosion. Brick, mortar, wooden trim, and assorted other debris flew at us. I took a jagged chunk of brick to the head that knocked me flat.

Standing in the gap of the shattered wall, broken bricks clattering down it's metallic body, was a tall, man-like machine, easily eight foot tall.

My vision was blurry and my ears were ringing as I struggled to my feet. I had a nasty cut on the side of my head and I could feel hot blood flowing down the side of my face and neck.

The robot reacted to my movement - and only mine. Completely ignoring Pym and Trask, its head rotated as it somehow tracked me. Then it took an ominous step in my direction.

Trask was just a few feet in front of me. He'd also been knocked down by the appearance of the robot. I immediately swarmed over him, wrapping an arm around Trask's throat and shoving my handgun into his side.

As I'd hoped, the robot froze.

"So that's your mutant-hunting machine?" I hissed into Trask's ear.

Trask gave a single, abrupt, nod.

"Call it off!" I told Trask, jamming my gun deeper into his ribs to emphasize what I was saying.

"Sentinel zero zero one!" Trask shouted. "Go to standby!"

The robot seemed to slump slightly.

I reached into Trask's jacket, intending to get his gun away from him. But he didn't have a firearm. Instead, he had something that looked something like a small radio.

Whatever it was, I didn't like the sight of it. I pitched if off to the side.

By now, Henry Pym was on his feet. He advanced slowly towards the robot, obviously fascinated by what he was seeing.

"Hank... don't..." Trask called. "It will defend itself if you get too close."

Okay, that was good to know. Pym stopped and then carefully began backing away.

"Why did you bring this thing with you?" Pym asked Trask.

"I thought if you saw it, you would change your mind," Trask choked out. I still had him grappled. "It reacted to protect me after a weapon was drawn."

Pym didn't say anything, but he was listening to what Trask was saying.

"We've discussed the mutant crisis," Trask continued. "You know what will happen. Is it so wrong to want the human race to survive? Together, we can make the Sentinels into something other than war machines. They can become a police force - existing to keep mutants from taking complete control. They will give humanity a way to respond to the threat. As it now stands, we are defenseless."

"Be careful, Pym," I said coldly. "Your friend is building some kind of murder robot that targets people with powers. This town is filled with people who are gonna take exception to that."

Pym nodded slowly, his eyes on mine. Then he said, "ULTRON, disarm her."

Some force snatched my gun from my hand. It flew across the room and slammed into a metal plate mounted on a wall. It didn't fall after it hit the plate. The gun just stayed there like it was glued in place.

I was off-balance and surprised. Trask took the opportunity to twist away from me. I managed to kick his legs out from under him before he could get too far. Then Pym landed a surprisingly fast and strong rabbit-punch on the side of my face. I was rocked back on my heels almost as much from surprise as from the force of the blow. I side-slipped, dodged another punch, and got ready to beat both men into the ground.

And then the Sentinel grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the nearest wall. It was effortlessly holding me up with one hand. I tried to pry its fingers loose. That didn't work. Then I chopped at it's wrist and elbow. That didn't work either. Then I kicked it as hard as I could in what would have been a man's solar plexus.

It didn't even flinch. Nothing was working.

So I went for it's 'eyes', but they were shielded by thick glass and I couldn't dig my thumbs into them. Meanwhile its grip on my neck was steadily increasing and my vision was beginning to go red...

Pym grabbed the Sentinel by the arm and yanked hard, trying to break me loose. All the while, he was yelling, "Damn it, Bolivar! Stop this!"

If Bolivar Trask had anything to say, I didn't hear it.

Pym let go of the Sentinel's arm and snarled, "ULTRON! Electro-magnetic overload attack on Sentinel zero zero one!"

Every vacuum tube in the lab exploded - and the Sentinel convulsed and shook in response. It was distracted and perhaps damaged.

I braced my foot against the Sentinel's chest and yanked my revolver out of its ankle holster. With my last shred of consciousness, I put the muzzle up against one of the Sentinel's eyes and pulled the trigger.

The bullet crashed through the thick glass port over the robot's eye, sending shards of glass and metal flying - some cutting into my face. For a bizarre split-second, I could actually see into the interior of the Sentinel's head. The grip on my throat weakened as the Sentinel reeled backwards, but it was still holding me suspended in mid-air.

What I saw next didn't make a lot of sense. Something small - insect-small - buzzed through the air and into the hole I'd blown through the Sentinel's eye. Then there was a flash of white and blue electricity from inside the Sentinel's skull. The Sentinel convulsed suddenly and threw me across the room.

I slammed into something hard and everything went dark.

* * *

I didn't wake up all at once. Instead, I became aware in a series of bleary, painful stages. Then I suddenly remembered that I'd been in a fight with a killer robot.

"Easy," Janet Van Dyne said as I frantically jerked awake. I was lying on a bed and my right wrist was handcuffed to the brass headboard.

Still breathing hard from my flash of panic, I looked around. We were in a small bedroom. There was folksy artwork on the walls and the furniture was plain but sturdy. It looked completely ordinary.

My head was throbbing and my throat hurt, but somebody had bandaged up my hands - I'd smashed them up pretty badly trying to fight my way out of the Sentinel's grasp. There was a mirror on the far end of the room and I caught my reflection in it. I was cut, bruised and battered, but again, somebody had made an effort to patch me up. There was a big bandage wrapped around my head. It was obvious that I'd come way too close to losing my most recent fight in a very final way.

My rumpled and blood-stained jacket was tidily folded over a nearby chair. My badly scuffed shoes were neatly tucked under the same chair. My .45 and shoulder holster were nowhere to be seen. And my revolver wasn't in my ankle holster.

Janet was sitting by the door. She had a book in her hands. As I watched, she inserted a bookmark and put it on the chest of drawers next to her. I noticed that it was the latest Hemingway.

"Welcome back to the world of the living," Janet said.

"Janet," I said as calmly as I could manage, "I honestly don't have a clue how you're involved in this, but you should know that your two boyfriends are honest-to-God mad scientists."

Janet shook her head. "That way Hank and Bolivar tell it, you pulled a gun on them. They think you're the crazy one."

I chuckled painfully and rattled the handcuffs that secured me to the bed. "Fine. So let's call the cops and let them sort it out. I'm perfectly happy to wait until they show up."

Janet stirred uneasily, but didn't respond.

I licked my lips. "Do you have any water? And I wouldn't turn down an aspirin."

Wordlessly getting to her feet, Janet left the room. I took the opportunity to examine the cuffs. They were professional quality, in fact they were the same model that the FBI uses. I guess it should have been no surprise that these three had access to a good pair of handcuffs. A quick check of my pockets showed that my lockpick set was gone - along with my wallet, keys, and switchblade. Whoever had searched me had been thorough.

The headboard was pretty solid, but given time I could probably tear it loose from the bed. I would still be cuffed to it, but at least I'd be able to move.

Janet came back with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. She put them on the nightstand next to me. I considered making a grab for her, but decided against it. I had to find out what was going on - and maybe build a rapport with Janet. I just didn't see her as one of the bad guys. If I could get her on my side, or at least on the side of preventing her men from train-wrecking their lives, that would help a lot.

"So exactly how do you fit into this?" I asked once I'd taken some aspirin.

Janet was back in her chair. "You said Hank and Bolivar were my boyfriends. I guess that's close enough."

I drained the glass of water and put it back on the nightstand. "What's that like?"

Janet smiled at me. It was... beautiful. Janet's a fine-looking woman, but every now and then she does something - like smile, or brush her fingers through her hair, or tilt her head when she talks to you - and then she dazzles.

"It has its moments," she told me mildly.

I leaned back against the headboard. "I was in the Hellfire Club last night," I told Janet.

Janet didn't say anything, but she seemed to examine me carefully.

"I saw you with Hank and Bolivar," I continued.

Janet was still silent, but didn't seem upset or angry.

"I'm worried where that will go in the long run," I finished quietly. "You might end up hurt... or worse."

"Are you worried that Marie might hurt you?" Janet asked with a raised eyebrow.

I shook my head, "Most folks would say we're talking about different things."

A flicker of anger finally appeared in Janet's eyes. "Maybe 'most folks' should learn to mind their own damn business, Domino."

I held up my non-cuffed hand. "I'm not judging, Janet. After all, society doesn't exactly approve of how Marie and I live. But like I said, I'm worried."

Janet shrugged irritably. "Your concern is noted."

Letting out a sigh, I shook my head. "Okay, I've pissed you off. Sorry. Tell you what, since you don't want to talk about your love life, how about we talk about mine?"

Janet didn't respond. She just looked at me skeptically.

"When I was at the Hellfire Club last night, I was with Emma Frost," I told her.

The expression that came over Janet's face was somewhere between startled and alarmed.

"Emma had me on the end of a leash," I added.

Janet let out a long breath before speaking. "And you're worried about me? For the love of God, Domino! Do you understand what you're playing with?!"

"I know," I replied.

"How far has it gone?" Janet asked as she leaned forward in her chair.

And then words began rushing out of me. Until then, I didn't realize how much I had to talk with someone about Emma. Maybe Janet wasn't the best choice, but she was all I had.

"I love Marie, but there's something about Emma," I said - and I could hear the desperate confusion in my own words. "She gets inside of your head and then never goes away. Emma doesn't make any secret of the fact that she wants me, but with her you just never know. Does she really care about me, or am I just going to be another notch on her bedpost? She's so different from anyone else I've ever met. Does Emma even feel the way other people feel? Love like other people love? How much of her cold-hearted-manipulative-bitch act is just an image, and how much of it is really her?"

Janet just shook her head.

"I haven't cheated on Marie," I continued, "but Emma and I have come so damn close. I keep pulling away at the last moment, but I'm not kidding myself. Someday..."

I stopped. I couldn't quite finish.

Janet gave me a sympathetic look. "Stay away from her, Domino. Emma's poison. Poison in a very pretty package."

I couldn't agree with that. I've seen the obvious affection Emma has for Jean. I've seen Emma concerned about people in trouble. And Emma's helped both me and others when she didn't have to. Even Marie, who doesn't particularly like Emma, but has been in her head, says that Emma isn't as bad as she pretends.

That couldn't all be an act. Could it?

"She's a hard woman to know," I told Janet slowly. "So many people only see the image that Emma shows the world."

Then Janet looked me in the eye. "I know Emma Frost. She and I were together once."

I was still trying to deal with that when Henry Pym entered the room.

* * *

Pym tossed me something that I caught in mid-air. It was a key to the handcuffs.

I uncuffed myself and got to my feet, trying to hide how wobbly I actually was.

"Miss Thurman, please get out of my life," Pym said to me. Despite what he'd said, he didn't come across as angry. Instead, he just seemed tired and depressed.

I shrugged. "That sort of depends, Dr. Pym. I'd like some answers."

Pym gave me a ghost of a smile. "You pulled a gun on me and Bolivar. Then you wrecked a highly sophisticated and expensive machine with a five-cent pistol cartridge. Go away or I'll call the police."

I actually laughed. "If you were going to call the cops, you would have done it already. Something tells me that both you and Trask don't really want the authorities involved. But if you give me a few answers, then maybe I'll go away."

Pym thought that over. Then he nodded and leaned against the doorframe. "Ask your questions and we'll see if I have any answers."

"When Marie and I showed you that list of parts yesterday, you recognized them, didn't you? Even the ones that weren't yours?"

Pym nodded. "Yes."

"So you knew about Trask's robot?"

Pym shook his head. "Bolivar and I discussed a robot design. I thought it was purely theoretical. However, the parts on your list were right for someone building a humanoid automaton that fit our concepts."

"So all of the stuff on the list was for either you or Trask?"

Pym nodded.

"Are you a part of Trask's anti-mutant campaign?" I asked next, trying to keep any harshness out of the question.

Pym and Janet exchanged a look. "No," Pym said tightly.

A suspicion suddenly came over me. But I didn't say anything.

"How's ULTRON doing?" I asked - more as a distraction that anything else. I figured it wouldn't be a good idea to let on what I suspected about Janet.

"ULTRON is completely destroyed," Pym responded tightly.

I didn't respond. Frankly, I suspected that wasn't a bad thing.

"Okay, now I have a question for you," Pym said suddenly. "Who are you working for?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry Dr. Pym, but I can't talk about my clients. However, I'm pretty sure that he intends you no harm."

Pym cocked his head slightly. His eyes seemed to flicker as he considered the problem.

"Tony Stark," he eventually concluded.

Dr. Henry Pym was just as smart as everyone said. I kept as straight of a face as I could manage and didn't say anything.

"Are we done, Miss Thurman?" Pym asked.

I nodded.

"Then please get out of my house," Pym said very flatly.

"You have my guns, wallet, and keys," I pointed out.

"They're on the dining room table," Janet said.

* * *

Out in the dining room, I grabbed my stuff.

"Janet..." I began, right after I'd slipped my semi-automatic back in my shoulder-holster.

"Yes?" she said in response.

"Thanks for the save," I said - and I meant it. "I was in big trouble. What you did to Trask's robot probably kept it from breaking my neck."

Janet paused for a long moment before answering. "I don't know what you mean, Domino."

She wasn't a good liar, but I let it go. Even in this town, a lot of people with powers try to blend in with normal folks. And as far as I was concerned, that was their business.

"Your friends are waiting for you outside," Janet said.

That was good news. I began limping painfully for the door. Janet put an arm around my shoulders and helped me get there.

* * *

Marie and Jean were waiting for me outside the Pym residence. They were in my car and parked on the other side of the street.

Jumping out of the car, Marie met us half-way. Janet let me go, made sure that Marie had a hold of me, and then retreated back into the house.

Marie gave me a quick once-over to see if I was okay, then gave me a careful hug.

"You look like hell," Marie said with a worried shake of her head. Then she gave me a big kiss - doing her best to avoid the parts of my face that were bruised and cut.

"I went a round with a robot," I replied. "The robot was winning until everyone ganged up on it."

Then I gingerly kissed her back. Even my lips hurt.

Jean was behind the wheel. Marie and I got in the backseat. Normally, it's a good time when Marie and I are in the back of a car together. She's kinda randy for car-sex.

"Before you get mad," Jean said as she peered at me in the rear-view mirror. "I'm the one who convinced Marie not to go in after you with all guns blazing."

"Actually, that was the right move," I told her. "Whatever else Janet and Pym are, they aren't the bad guys. And Pym felt bad enough about what had happened that he was willing to answer questions. Turning the situation into a fight wouldn't have helped."

Jean looked over her shoulder at Marie, and gave her a long and level look that seemed to ooze 'I told you so'. Marie had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Southern girls are temperamental and possessive," Jean told me with an exasperated shake of her head. "Pym doesn't know it, but I probably saved his life."

"Tell me about it," I said with a tired nod - just before I kissed Marie again.

Then a thought occurred to me. "When I went missing, you tracked me telepathically, right?"

Jean nodded. "It seemed like a good time to bend the rules."

"Did you read Pym and Janet's minds?"

Jean nodded again. She was becoming wary. I had to be careful.

"I know you have rules, Jean, but... is Janet in any danger? Is she being forced into what she's doing with Pym and Trask?"

Jean shook her head. "No."

"Okay," I said after a long pause.

"Sorry, sugar," Marie said as she took my hands in hers, "but there's just no damsel in distress here. Nobody needs to be rescued."

* * *

Back at the office, Sooraya damn near panicked when she saw my worse-for-wear condition. I sat down - slowly and carefully - in my desk chair as she dug out the first-aid kit. Then she and Marie began fussing over me. Actually, there wasn't a lot left for them to do. Either Pym or Janet had already dressed most of my injuries.

I found the thought of Pym's hands on my unconscious body to be more than a little creepy. But was that completely fair? I remembered how Pym threw himself into my fight with the Sentinel. He tried to save my life. Arguably, when he ordered ULTRON to destroy itself to knock the Sentinel for a loop, he did save me.

"What now?" Jean asked. She was sitting in the chair that faced my desk. Hassim was in her lap. He was studying Jean carefully. Jean was returning his gaze.

"Tony hired us to do a job and we've done it," I said. "I'll phone Tony and give him a verbal report. Then we'll write up something more formal and send it to him - along with a grotesquely huge bill. There will be a line item in the bill that will list your services as an expense. You'll be paid fifty dollars and I'll charge Tony a hundred."

Both of Jean's eyebrows went up. Hassim giggled at that.

"Not that I'm objecting," Jean said, "but the deal was for five bucks a day. At most, you owe me ten dollars. And if you go by hours on the clock, you only owe me five."

I smiled painfully. "People who help track me down after a murder-machine has knocked me out get a sizable bonus. Besides, I love milking Tony Stark."

"There's a mental image," Marie said distractedly as she applied some antiseptic to a cut on my jaw.

Jean chuckled. Sooraya had to think for a moment about what Marie had said. She blushed when she finally got it. She's really too innocent of a young lady to be hanging around with tramps like us.

Marie gave Jean and Hassim a curious glance. "So what's the little guy thinking about?"

Jean looked back down at Hassim. "Mostly, he's thinking that he'd really like to suck on my boobs."

"Typical guy," Marie and I chorused simultaneously.

Blushing even more, Sooraya abandoned me and plucked Hassim out of Jean's lap. Then she fled back to the illusionary safety of her desk and begin feeding her son.

"I think you're going to live," Marie told me as she screwed the cap back on the bottle of antiseptic and tucked it into the first-aid kit. That really wasn't my preferred way to apply alcohol to injuries, so I pulled a bottle and three glasses out of my desk drawer and poured the three of us a generous shot. Sooraya doesn't drink. I swear, she's too good for this world.

"But seriously, what are we going to do about Trask?" Jean asked as she sipped her whiskey.

"I'm going to have a talk with him," I said. Being a lot less ladylike than Jean, I slugged my drink down all at once.

"What are you going to say to him?" Marie asked.

"I'm going to tell him that if he doesn't get out of the anti-mutant weapon business, then I'm going to mention what he's doing to Logan and Erik."

Marie, Jean, and Sooraya all winced simultaneously.

* * *

I heal pretty quick - much faster than ordinary people. The next day, I still looked and felt pretty rough around the edges, but it was a lot easier to get around.

Visiting Tony, I dropped off both a written report and our bill. As usual, Tony paid immediately, in full and in cash. That's one of his more endearing traits.

My report only mentioned the Hellfire Club in passing, and I left out the wilder details of Pym, Trask, and Janet's personal lives. It just didn't seem like something I should be spreading around.

Back at the office, I made a phone call to Trask that was short, cold, and to the point. I gave him my ultimatum and told him I'd be keeping an eye on him. He hung up on me. For his own sake, I hoped he got the message.

Marie hand-carried Jean's share of the money to the University. Then I got an excited call from her. Jean was treating Marie to lunch and then they were going to go shopping together. They wanted me to come along, but I said no. I'm not very good at being a girl and Marie sometimes needs to spend time with someone who is.

Yes, I'd noticed how close Jean and Marie were becoming. And I'd made up my mind not to worry about it.

Sooraya went out on some errands and suddenly it was just me and Hassim in the office. And he was asleep.

I called Emma.

"Hi," I said into the phone.

And then I was somewhere else.

* * *

We were in one of Emma's illusions. She calls them 'mind-scapes'.

Emma and I were sitting on the cliff-side porch of a magnificent mansion. Below us, the ocean crashed and muttered. The day was bright and warm, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Emma and I were both dressed for tea - in the kind of gowns that were all the rage among upper-class women thirty years ago. Her's was white, mine was midnight blue. In the real world, I'd never had the opportunity to dress like that. I was surprised to find that I rather enjoyed it.

Everything - the distant scent of coastal pines and new-mown grass, the call of seabirds, the hint of brine in the air, the play of shadows and light - was perfect. Emma is really good at that sort of thing.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "This is different from the usual."

Normally, whenever Emma takes me on one of her little mental vacations, I'm usually barely dressed - or just plain undressed - and assigned to some perversely exciting role where I'm serving one or more of Emma's quirkier desires.

"You've had a hard few days," Emma said with a smile that was almost as bright and perfect as the sun. "I thought it would be a good idea to dispense with the usual games."

Then she made a casual gesture that encompassed everything around us. "This is my estate on the California coast. It's south of San Francisco, near a town called Half Moon Bay. Someday, I hope we can visit it together."

"Nice place," I said with what I hoped was a casual nod. There was a cup of black tea in front of me. I picked it up and took a sip. I recognized it as something I'd had years ago in a Richmond restaurant. I'd loved it, but never got around to asking the waiter what it was. I'd tried to track it down a few times over the years, but with no luck.

"It's from Ceylon," Emma said. "A small plantation on the northern end of the island. It's sold under the brand name 'Myeria'. I caught you thinking about it that time we had lunch at the Broadmoor Hotel. I memorized a mental impression of the flavor and did some checking."

Okay, that was too much. I put the cup down with a slight clatter.

"What's going on, Emma?" I asked bluntly.

Emma shook her head. "This is an apology, Dom. And I'm very bad at this sort of thing. Please accept it."

I tried not to smile. That was a neat reversal on Emma's part. Now I was the bad guy for not being nice enough to poor, poor, Emma.

She's good.

"Apology accepted," I said easily. "And it will be doubly accepted if you do something important for both of us."

I'm also pretty good.

Emma gazed at me without saying anything, but she was wearing a tiny smile.

"There's a guy we have to keep an eye on," I continued seriously.

"Trask," Emma said with a slow and knowing nod. I figured Jean had given her most of the details. I hadn't bothered with telling her not to.

"He's a danger to himself and everyone like us," I said. "I warned him to back off, but he's a fanatic and I don't know if it registered with him or not."

"I doubt if it did," Emma added tonelessly.

"So we have to know what he's planning and who - if anyone - he's working with," I continued.

"I'll help," Emma agreed. Then her face darkened. "You understand that Trask could easily put us in a situation where we will have to deal with him?"

I nodded without saying anything. I refused to lie to myself about that. It wouldn't matter if I did it myself... or if I picked up the phone and talked to Logan or Lehnsherr. The results would be the same for Trask.

"Are you willing to go there?" Emma asked very quietly.

I looked Emma dead in the eye. "Yes. Are you?"

This time, it was Emma who nodded wordlessly.

I leaned back in my chair and scanned the ocean horizon. Damn, it was a beautiful day. And, of course, the temperature was exactly what Emma wanted it to be. So why did it suddenly seem cooler?

"Janet told me that she and you used to be together," I said.

Emma hesitated before answering. "Yes. Yes, we were. I met her a private party - a Bohemian event filled with young men and women who were doing self-conciously outrageous things as a way of rebelling against mommy and daddy. It was the usual toying with drugs, sex, and so-called black magic. Nothing too extreme."

Emma's eyes drifted slightly. "The others were just playing, but Janet was the real thing. She has desires that are quite powerful. We left the party together. Then she lived with me for about a year."

I didn't say anything. This part of the conversation was all Emma's show.

"I thought I'd found the one," Emma continued slowly. "The person I've been looking for my entire life. Somebody with needs that matched mine. But I was wrong. She eventually left me and took up with those two... creatures."

It was strange to see Emma mourning the one who got away, but I suppose fate has a way of eventually leveling all of us. Rich or poor, human or super-human, we all have our painful regrets.

"I'm sorry, Emma," I said softly.

Emma laughed bitterly. "Believe it or not, Dom, I introduced them to each other. Janet wasn't a member of the Hellfire Club, she was my companion and lover and attended as my guest. She would never have met Pym and Trask on her own. But one night, I introduced her and Pym on the assumption that they would find some passing amusement with each other. Within a matter of days, she began drifting away from me."

"You could have prevented that," I pointed out. Emma has a reputation for being ruthless with her psychic powers. It's not completely true, but sometimes it's pretty close.

"I didn't want a puppet. I wanted Janet," Emma replied simply. I could hear the pain in her voice.

The difference between how Janet and Emma recalled each other wasn't lost on me. And I suppose it was only human. Breakups always leave a legacy of pain, anger, and confusion. If you like the people involved, it can be a tough thing to watch happening.

"Does Pym know that Janet's a mutant?" I asked.

Emma gave me a long, long look. She was obviously surprised that I knew Janet was one of us.

"Yes," Emma finally replied.

"How about Trask?" I asked slowly. That part really bothered me.

Emma nodded her head slowly. "Yes. I imagine that provides something of an edge to their relationship."

"Jesus..." I muttered half under my breath.

* * *

I can't say that particular case has ever really ended.

Trask continues to speak-out about the 'mutant threat'. He also funnels money into organizations - both extreme and respectable - that back an anti-mutant agenda to one degree or another. And he keeps designing Sentinels. However, he hasn't actually built another one. At least, not yet.

Emma and I are watching. And waiting for the day when we'll have to act.

Hank Pym is working on his new ULTRON design, and Tony and I have talked that over. ULTRON II isn't designed to have an actual walking-talking body, but I'm sure that Pym eventually won't be able to resist. Someday, ULTRON II - or III - or IV - will get up off of a lab table and look its 'father' in the eye. What happens next is anyone's guess.

Tony and I haven't reached the same understanding as Emma and I have made about Trask, but we're still watching Pym carefully.

Meanwhile, Pym, Trask, and Janet remain together. I have no clue how that works. It just seems crazy, but then again, people are crazy. And we're particularly crazy when we're in love.

It's a part of us all.


	8. The Case of the Lady in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, the client is non-other than Fred Dukes (a.k.a. the Blob). It seems as if Fred has a dirty little secret and he's being blackmailed because of it. Or is that really what's going on?

 

 

 

THE CASE OF THE LADY IN RED

Prospective clients usually come to our office. We certainly don't meet them in alleys - the class of client you get under those circumstances is dangerously low.

But this client was special. For one thing, he'd have a real problem just getting up to our office. Off-hand, I wasn't sure if the stairs would support his weight. And even if he managed to get up to the fourth floor, I didn't think that he would be able to fit through the office door.

His name is Fred Dukes, but his nickname on the street is the Blob. He's muscle who works for a small-time gangster named Pietro Maximoff.

It's a long story, but Fred and I know one another from way back. I wouldn't exactly say that we were friends, but back when I also worked for Pietro Maximoff, we'd covered each other's backs more than once. In the process, I got to know Fred pretty well.

Bottom line: There was a time when I could count on Fred and he could count on me. Fred Dukes is dumber than a box of rocks, and he's lived a life that's an ode to bad decisions, but I both trusted him and owed him. So when he called and asked if we could talk, I instantly agreed.

"Hey, Dom," Fred said quietly. He was sitting on the concrete loading dock of an abandoned building. His gray suit - which had to be special-tailored for his block of a body - had seen better days. And Fred himself looked like a man with lot on his mind.

"Hey, yourself," I replied. Marie, who was standing right next to me, didn't say anything. She didn't know Fred like I did, and she didn't think dealing with him was a good idea. But I was the senior partner in our little PI outfit, so she'd grudgingly agreed to play ball.

"What do you want, Fred?" I asked as I sat next to him on the concrete dock. Marie remained standing, her arms folded underneath her breasts. A trick of the light made the blaze of white in her auburn hair seem to glow.

Marie and I are two very different kinds of women. I dress like a man - like you'd expect a private investigator to dress - in pants, a jacket, and a pair of black leather men's shoes that are useful if you need to run somebody down or kick them into submission. Inside my jacket is a shoulder-rig for my M1911 and the leather case that holds my PI license. Marie, on the other hand, always wears a dress and a pair of heels. And she carries a purse. Inside the purse she keeps some cash, lipstick and eyeliner, and a .44 revolver.

We're also both different from most other people. Most folks call us 'powered'. The scientists that we've met like to use the word 'mutants'.

With some difficulty, a thoughtful expression appeared on Fred's vast face.

"There's someone I know... a friend. He's in trouble and needs help," Fred said.

In the PI business, you run into a lot of people who have "friends" in trouble. That particular fiction usually doesn't last long once the investigation begins.

I kept a neutral expression on my face as I responded. "Okay. What kind of trouble?"

Fred pursed his lips, painfully searching for the right words. "When he was a lot younger, my friend did something that maybe he should'na done. He needed some money in a hurry, so he made a movie."

Then, obviously embarrassed, Fred ground to a halt.

"What kind of movie?" Marie asked. She seemed genuinely puzzled. Despite the fact Marie has been around the block more than a few times - both as a gangster and as a private investigator - she does have some odd blind spots.

Fred licked his lips as the tips of his ears actually turned distinctly pink. "It was... uh... a movie where my friend was naked. And he... uhm... he was with some other guys."

One of Marie's finely plucked eyebrows elevated a considerable distance up her forehead, but she didn't say anything. An uncomfortable silence descended on the three of us.

"So," I said slowly - deliberately breaking the awkward moment, "your friend was in an all-guy stag movie. Where do we come into this, Fred?"

Fred sighed and shook his head. "Somebody's found the film and is using it against my friend. They're making him steal things. My friend's not exactly the smartest guy in the world and a lot of his plans don't always work out. So it's just a matter of time till he gets in big trouble."

It was time to speed up the conversation. "You want us to get the film back?" I said.

Fred nodded.

"Any idea who has the film?" Marie asked.

"Nope," Fred replied mournfully.

* * *

We spent a few more minutes talking with Fred, trying to nail down something useful that we could work with. While he did give us some background, Fred didn't have much more for us. According to Fred, his 'friend' was contacted by mail and told what to do. The thefts were straight-forward - jobs lifting cash from smalltime crooks. It was the sort of thing where the victims couldn't go to the cops. The cash was then mailed to a post-office box in upstate New York.

Back at the office, I made a long-distance phone-call, trying to work the post-office box lead. Fortunately, the post-office in question had a gabby postmaster. It turned out that the box was registered to a name nobody at the post-office recognized. He paid for the box with cash. And somebody different showed up every Monday to pick up the contents of the box.

That was the best we could do without leaving town.

"So the post-office angle is out for right now," I told Marie disgustedly. "That doesn't leave us with much in the way of leads."

Marie nodded. She was curled up on the easy chair, her high heels on the floor in front of her chair, and her feet tucked beneath her body. I was behind my desk, leaning back in my chair with my hands behind my head. Sooraya - our secretary - was across the room, sitting primly at her desk while she caught up on the office bills. Her son, Hassim, was playing on the floor next to her.

"You know, if Fred is boosting small-timers, I'm surprised we haven't heard about it," Marie said. "There's no way he could be subtle about it."

"Fred can be a scary guy," I pointed out. "And crooks don't like to admit that they've been robbed. It gives other people ideas. But if he keeps robbing bad guys, it's only a matter of time that he builds up too many enemies."

"Do you have any contacts among the local pornographers?" Sooraya asked as finished writing a check.

I made a face. "I've heard of the guy who Fred said made the film. His name was Brett Williams and he was killed in a car accident a couple of months ago. He had a rep as a guy who made surprisingly high-quality blue movies. They're noted for almost studio-level filming and editing, young and good-looking actors and actresses, and very enthusiastic performances. His work is pretty well known in certain circles and gets a high price. Even more so since he died."

"You know, that's quite a coincidence," Marie said thoughtfully. "The guy who made the dirty movie in question dies fairly recently... and then one of his film's suddenly being used to blackmail Fred."

I nodded in agreement. "It makes you wonder if someone took over Williams' business - and then found something interesting buried within the inventory."

"Why wouldn't Williams have sold Fred's film long ago?" Marie asked.

I shrugged. "Maybe it just didn't have a buyer - I sort of assume that homosexual porn featuring a guy like Fred is something of a specialty item."

Marie and Sooraya both shuddered. I have to admit that the idea of a naked Fred Dukes is kinda off-putting.

"Or maybe Williams had plans of his own for the film," I continued. "Having something on a guy as big and tough as Fred could be handy in the long run. Williams just happened to die before he ever needed to use it."

"That's possible," Marie said with a slow nod.

"So let's go have a talk with the Williams family," I said as I reached for my hat.

* * *

"Brett wasn't a bad man." Mrs. Williams was a small and mousy woman, grey-haired and pleasantly wrinkled. She was wearing a housecoat and slippers as she poured fresh-made coffee for us. A small plate of really excellent short-bread cookies were on the table. I'd already had two of them.

We were sitting in the meticulously clean kitchen of Mrs. Williams' sea-side bungalow. The neighborhood was upscale and a recent model Packard was parked in the driveway. Outside, a trio of children were yelling back-and-forth as they played in the neatly fenced front yard. Mrs. Williams was babysitting her grandchildren.

It struck me as a good way to live out your retirement years. Apparently the pornography business is pretty lucrative. Like most of the criminal vices, I imagine it commands a good price for its product.

"A few years back, Brett got in trouble with the higher-ups at Universal," Mrs. Williams continued regretfully. "Some equipment turned up missing and they blamed him, even though Brett had nothing to do with it! Brett was fired and then blackballed from the movie industry. Nobody would hire him, so he did what he had to do to provide for his family. I wish people would remember him for that."

I nodded neutrally. Pornographers normally hire the young, dumb, and desperate. And then they get all of the money while their 'actors' get chump-change and a better-than-average chance of a case of syphilis. Maybe Brett Williams had been different, but I rather doubted it.

"We were hoping you could tell us who took over your husband's business," I said as I took a sip of coffee. "We're particularly interested in any product he had in stock."

Mrs. Williams' pleasantly brown eyes met mine. For just a moment, I could see something hard in them.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked pleasantly enough.

"Our client is interested in a movie that your husband made several years ago. It's possible he never sold it."

"My husband made a lot of movies over the years," Mrs. Williams pointed out. "And as far as I know, he sold all of them."

I nodded. "This was a film featuring a pretty unmistakable guy. He's six-and-a-half feet tall and almost that wide."

Mrs. Williams shook her head. "You have to understand - my husband was very careful to keep his work separate from his family life. I know very little about what he did. And I certainly didn't watch any of his movies."

"But none of his movies were around after he died?" I asked.

Mrs. Williams nodded. "There were some clips - sections of movies that he had edited out for one reason or another. There were also a lot of photographic negatives."

"What happened to them?"

"I got rid of everything," Mrs. Williams said with a slightly triumphant smile. "The clips and negatives, the cameras and lights, the stage props and backdrops, the unshot film, and Brett's list of available actors and actresses."

"Who did you sell it to?"

Mrs. Williams' smile became wider, "To a handsome young man with a charming accent. He said his name is Remy LeBeau."

* * *

Remy LeBeau runs the best speakeasy, nightclub, and gambling parlor in town. It's a fancy, expensive, and decadent place that decent people never admit to visiting. For somewhat less than decent people - like Marie and I - it's the place to be. If you're a regular at Remy's, then you've made a position for yourself in town. If nothing else, it means you have a lot of money.

Expense is part is what keeps me from being a true regular at Remy's. However, I do know the boss, and Marie knows him even better. Remy has always had a serious case of the hots for her. I didn't particularly hold that against him. After all, why should he be different than most men?

Remy's doesn't really have opening and closing hours. Sometime in the wee morning hours, the last of the drunks are put into cabs and sent home. Then the staff cleans up and restocks with a quick and precise efficiency that would do the U.S. Army proud. The doors open again when the first customers appear.

A mature woman with short, meticulously styled, coal-black hair greeted us with a broad smile. She was wearing a tuxedo that was cut in a manner that somehow emphasized her curves. And she had a lot of curves to emphasize.

"Miss Domino, Miss Rogue, welcome to Remy's!" she said grandly as she opened the inner door to the club.

"Thanks, sweetie," I said absent-mindedly as Marie and I walked inside. The place hadn't really started hopping yet. The band was still tuning up its instruments and there were no dancers on the side-stages. The doors to the gambling room was open, and through them I could see a half dozen men and women indulging in their favorite vice. Another dozen-or-so people were scattered through the main room, drinking and talking in small groups.

"Her name is Denise," Marie said to me as she scanned the room. There was no sign of Remy.

I looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"The lady at the door," Marie said as we walked through the table section. "Her name is Denise."

"I'll remember that," I said. And I meant it. It's a handy thing to know names - people react well to that sort of thing. Marie is actually better at names than I am. Hell, when you get down to it, she's better with people than I am. That's a pretty useful skill and it's a big part of what she brings to our team.

"She's been with Remy for a long time - since this joint opened as a matter-of-fact. She started as a dancer," Marie continued absently.

"She has the body for it," I said with a chuckle as we sat at the bar. The bartender put whiskey doubles in front of us. Like I said, we aren't exactly regulars, but the people at Remy's still know us.

"It turned out that Denise had a head for numbers and Remy put her to work as staff," Marie finished.

"Good for her," I said with an approving nod.

Then Marie smiled at me. "In her younger days, she was one of the highest-price working girls in the city. Her fee was fifty dollars a night. There were men who paid it - and then came back for more."

I let out a low whistle. Fifty bucks is a lot of money. Marie and I routinely risk our lives for a lot less than that. And ever since the Depression hit, you could rent a desperate youngster for pocket change.

By now, Marie's smile was decidedly mischievous. "So I was thinking, maybe it's time for us to consider a career change."

I rolled my eyes as I downed my whiskey. Marie is always trying to shock me.

"So how much do you think the rich and foolish would pay for our services?" Marie asked with a laugh.

"We're both out of practice with men," I pointed out.

"Then maybe we should start with rich and foolish women," Marie said contemplatively as she took a delicate sip from her shot glass.

"I would be honored to offer my services as your business manager," Remy interjected.

He was right behind us. That man can be pretty sneaky when he tries.

* * *

I scooted out the empty barstool next to me. Remy nodded graciously and sat down. The bartender promptly poured him a white wine.

"Marie and I were just speculating," I told him. "We don't really have a career change in mind."

Remy shrugged. "A pity. The oldest profession is not a source of revenue that I normally pursue - although I do allow the right sort of lady to discretely practice their trade here. However, I think Marie's idea is intriguing. You are two very desirable women. And as your manager I wouldn't have to worry about abusive customers. After all, you two are more than capable of taking care of yourselves. That would reduce the percentage of your income that would go to me."

"So what do you think we should charge?" Marie asked eagerly.

Remy gave her his best dazzling smile. Talking about sex with Marie, even bought-and-paid-for sex, was obviously something that appealed to him.

"There's a saying, 'cher - 'there are no expensive women, but there are expensive men'. A working woman should always charge whatever the market will bear."

"Tell you what," I interrupted. "What if we just wanted to make a dirty movie?"

The easy-going smile was still on Remy's face, but it was gone from his peculiarly deep eyes. And rather than staring at Marie, he was now looking at me.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Word is that you bought out Brett Williams' shop after he passed away," I answered.

Remy came to a quick conclusion and answered me honestly. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"A new sideline, Remy?" I said in a slightly shocked tone. "It doesn't seem like your thing."

He gave me a bland smile. "I was hoping to broaden my range of operations. It's always good to learn new things."

Marie made an impatient noise. "Cut the crap, Remy. Why did you buy Williams' dirty-movie operation?"

Remy's attention went back to Marie - and he let out a long, weary, sigh. Then he nodded back towards the front of the building. In a semi-dark corner behind the front bar, a pair of spectacular-looking young ladies were scrambling out of their street-clothes and into their dancing outfits.

"Some of my dancers occasionally did work for Williams," Remy said. "I found out that they were being blackmailed. It was a 'give me money lest I send pictures of your shocking deeds back to ma and pa on the farm,' sort of thing."

"And you intervened out of the goodness of your heart?" I said. I tried to keep any skepticism I might be feeling out of my voice.

Remy gave me a hard look. "Believe what you want, 'cher. I bought what was left of William's operation in the hope that it would cut everyone's losses. His widow just wanted to get rid of it all and sold me what was left of the business for a song."

"Was there much in the way of old material?" I asked.

"Some negatives and film out-takes - not as much as I'd hoped. I destroyed them myself. Then I put out the word that I was tired of this blackmail merde and there would be consequences if it didn't stop."

"Did it work?" Marie asked. "Has the blackmail stopped?"

Remy nodded his head. "Yes."

"We need to talk to someone who was on the blackmailer's receiving end," I added quickly.

Remy shrugged. "That tall and dark girl behind the bar? She's one of them."

* * *

The dancer was as Remy had advertised - a tall and hot-eyed brunette. I'd seen her on-stage before. She was pretty good.

"Where's the cute redhead?" the dancer asked Marie. She was most of the way undressed and the transparent silk and sequin outfit she was about to put on was draped over the bar. She had a fantastic body.

Marie grinned broadly. "That was a one-time thing."

"My name's Lucy," the dancer told Marie. "Tell your friend that if she comes back again, I'll give a special show. Just the two of us. But it's only fair to warn her that I actually do bite."

I had a pretty good idea who those two were talking about.. Marie has spent some time around one particular redhead. In fact, they worked together back when I was missing. Her name was Jean Grey.

"The lady in question already has a girlfriend," I said.

Lucy gave me an amused and utterly confident look. "Then maybe it's time for her to trade up."

Lucy obviously didn't really know Jean that well. Jean's lady-friend was none other than Emma Frost - a fabulously rich ice-queen beauty who's also an incredibly powerful psychic.

"I'll let her know that your interested," I said dryly. "But right now we'd like to talk about something else."

"Like what?" Lucy said disinterestedly as she skinned her panties down around her ankles and stepped out of them. By now she was completely naked and completely unconcerned about the fact. Being an exotic dancer shuts down the part of your brain that cares about modesty.

"Like blackmail," I said.

Lucy paused for a long second as she coldly studied our faces. Then she clasped her hands together and leaned towards us, her forearms against the top of the bar. It was a pose that put her face and breasts - both quite nice, by the way - on display.

"I don't have a lot of money right now," she said. "And I don't get paid until the end of the week. How about after work I provide some personal services and we call it good?"

"Tempting, but we're not the blackmailers," Marie said.

There was another pause as Lucy studied us again. She was having a problem figuring us out.

"We're PI's," Marie continued. "And we have a client who's in the same boat you were. If we find whoever is bothering you, maybe we can shut him down forever."

Something eager seemed to flare in Lucy's eyes. Then she reached under the bar and grabbed a bottle and three glasses. Putting the glasses between us, she poured us all a drink.

"Let's talk," she said.

* * *

"Money was tight when I first got to town," Lucy said as she took a meditative sip from her drink. "Somebody told me about Brett Williams. I got in touch with him and he gave me some work. At first it was pretty low-key - I just took my clothes off for the camera. But after I talked to the other girls, it was pretty obvious where the real money was. So I started on the hard end of the business."

"What was Williams like?" I asked. Maybe that really wasn't too important, but I was curious. And background information has a habit of becoming useful.

Lucy smiled into her shot glass. "Not as bad as you'd think. Not as good as you'd hope. He was a tough boss, but he paid on time and kept his hands to himself. There's not a lot more you can ask for in that line of work."

"Did you ever think he was the blackmailer?" Marie asked.

Lucy shook her head. "No. Brett just didn't strike me as the type. And besides, it was still going on after Brett was killed in that car wreck."

"How much did they want?" I broke in. That might be important - it could tell us something about the blackmailers.

Lucy made a wry face. "Not too much. In fact, it was something I could easily afford to pay every week. I guess that was smart - instead of it being so bad that I'd skip town or tell them to go to hell, it became just another bill I had to pay. So I paid and got on with my life. And I wasn't the only one. A few other girls who worked for Brett were in the same position."

"How did you make your payments?" I continued.

"Cash mailed to an out-of-town post-office box," Lucy replied immediately. "It was in some podunk town in New York."

Marie and I exchanged glances. That tied neatly into Fred's story.

"Any idea who was behind it?" Marie asked.

Lucy shrugged helplessly. "I figured it was somebody who owned some of Brett's stuff - and then recognized me from here. That could be just about any customer."

"But it stopped recently?" I added.

"Yep," Lucy said with obvious relief. "Right after Remy bought the last of Brett's stuff and put out the word that it had to stop. Believe me when I say I'm grateful."

Marie gave me a puzzled look. I was frowning.

That didn't quite fit.

* * *

The band was finally playing. Lucy and a few other dancers were onstage. Remy was meeting and greeting people as they eagerly walked into his gambling den. I guess it pays to be polite to people who are giving you their money.

Marie and I were at a table, still working on the drinks Lucy had given us.

"So the blackmail stopped for Lucy... but not for Fred," Marie said slowly.

"Fred's probably bringing in a lot more cash," I pointed out.

"I suppose," Marie said doubtfully. "And it does make sense that our bad-guy would decide to leave Remy's people alone after he put out a warning. It isn't really smart to cross Remy."

"Do you have any favorite suspects?" I asked Marie. She has pretty good instincts about people.

"Mrs. Williams is a possibility," Marie said immediately.

I nodded. "The same thought occurred to me. She had access to the pictures and movies. And she knew who her husband's actors and actresses were - remember she mentioned that there was a list she sold to Remy?"

Marie nodded and glanced at Lucy. "Yeah, but while I can maybe see her doing small-time blackmail, I can't see her getting into powered-crime. Forcing someone like Fred to boost other crooks is a pretty dangerous next step. It's way beyond just forcing some strippers to give you a few percent off the top of their earnings."

"Remy's another possibility," I suggested.

Marie forced herself not to look in Remy's direction.

"He would know which of his people worked with Williams," Marie agreed. "And if his girls are starved for cash - but not because he's underpaying them - that would make them both better employees and a lot more compliant if he wanted something extra from him."

"Makes sense," I agreed, "but..."

Marie smiled. "But neither of us really buys that. Remy's a rogue and a cad - not an asshole."

"So we're back to 'it could be anybody'," I growled.

Marie sighed. "Unfortunately, what Lucy said makes a lot of sense. Any customer here might also own one of Brett's dirty movies. If it's the right movie, that would give them what they need."

I finished my drink and held the glass up for another. A waitress dressed in a handful of feathers and glass beads nodded in my direction, snagged the glass out of my hand, and headed for the bar.

"We're at another dead end," I said.

Marie gave me an inquisitive look.

"We should take a look at whatever's left of the stuff Remy bought from Mrs. Williams," I suggested.

Marie nodded. Her eyes were now fixed on Remy.

* * *

Remy was so cooperative that I dropped any residual suspicion I might have had that he was the blackmailer. He immediately gave us the keys to Williams' operation and directions on how to find his studio. He also warned us that there wasn't much left.

I wasn't too surprised to find that the Williams studio was in an otherwise abandoned office building. In fact, it occupied all of the second floor, but there was nothing on the first floor. What Williams had done for a living didn't exactly lend itself to having neighbors. The building itself was located in a run-down part of downtown. Amusingly, it wasn't too far from police headquarters.

It was well after dark by the time we arrived. Remy's keys got us both inside the building and into Williams' office and studio. The power was turned off and we used flashlights to search the area. Inside, nothing really stood out except for the sheer amount of open space. Remy had carefully removed anything suspicious. He'd destroyed all of the stock, sold off the cameras and other hardware, and abandoned everything else to rot. The name on the property records wasn't his. All Remy had to do was wait for the city to claim the building for back-taxes and condemn it.

But Remy had missed something - there was still some paperwork in Williams' office. Marie and I began emptying desk drawers and flipping through the contents of a half-empty filing cabinet.

"This doesn't look to promising," Marie said as she began sorting piles of folders. "Not unless you're interested in Williams' electrical and gas bills for the last ten years."

"Give it your best shot," I said. "I'll check out the rest of this floor."

By the time I got back to Marie, she had organized the paperwork into a neat grid on the office floor. But Marie seemed to be done with it. She was sitting at a steel desk, with an old hard-bound book open in front of her. There was a disgusted look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked. The look on Marie's face had me worried. It was like she had experienced an immensely personal betrayal.

* * *

We caught up to Fred just outside of his first-floor apartment. I was so pissed that I slapped him across the forehead.

"Ow!" he said, putting his hands over his forehead. Fred's eyes were wide with surprise.

"I don't believe you did that to us!" I yelled at him.

Fred blinked slowly. He still had his hands on his forehead.

"I don't..." he began confusedly. Then he ground to a flustered stop.

Marie grabbed me by the shoulders. And I immediately calmed down. She was right. Yes, this was frustrating as all hell, but... but...

But it was Fred. We should have expected the unexpected.

Like that he would tell us the truth.

* * *

The inside of Fred's apartment was cheerfully disorganized and furnished with crudely solid furniture made out of concrete blocks, railroad ties, and lengths of heavily reinforced four by fours. I was sitting in a massive chair that could probably only be moved with a pickup truck. Thanks to the relative sizes involved, I suppose I looked like a kid in an ordinary easy chair.

"I'm sorry I hit you," I told Fred. Actually, I felt pretty bad about that.

Marie was in the kitchen with Fred, helping him with the tea.

"That's okay, Dom!" Fred called. He came out of the kitchen carrying a tray, with Marie right behind him. A delicate ceramic teapot and some cups were piled on the tray. He put it down on a low table that consisted of raw lumber stacked on cinder blocks. Then Marie curled up next to me in the same chair - there was plenty of room - as Fred carefully filled a pair of cups for us.

Fred seemed happy to have guests. I guess he usually doesn't get too many.

I took a sip as soon as Fred handed me a cup. It was a herbal mixture, with orange and a hint of something like ginger. Actually, it was pretty good.

"This blend helps calm people down," Fred announced seriously as he collapsed into another chair. The floor shook from the impact. The teacup in Fred's hand looked like a thimble.

"I'm calm," I muttered to nobody in particular as I sipped some more tea.

Marie gave me a skeptical look and refilled my cup.

"What do you know?" Fred asked carefully, looking us over as he spoke.

"We thought it was you who was in the movie," Marie instantly responded. It was like she didn't trust me to say anything. "You've gotta understand, Fred, people lie to us all the time. Even the people who hire us. But you surprised us. It was just like you said - it was a friend who was in that movie."

A regretful look came over Fred's face. "Yeah. Yeah. I guess I shoulda figured you'd think that. How didja find out the truth?"

"Remy didn't clear out all of the paperwork in Williams' office," Marie replied. "He thought it was harmless stuff - just a lot of old bills and papers. But I found a ledger that Williams used to keep track of cash payments and receipts. It was coded - probably in case he ever got raided by the cops - and I suppose that's why Remy missed it. However, the code was a pretty simple substitution cipher, and it didn't take long to crack it. Among other things, the book listed payments that Williams made to the people who worked for him."

"It was Pietro," I said quietly. I guess it was mostly just to hear the words come out of my mouth. "It was Pietro who was in that movie."

Fred pursed his fleshy lips, and then nodded his head.

"It was a long time ago," he told me, "before you were in the Brotherhood."

The Brotherhood was what we used to call Pietro's gang - over my loud objections I might add.

"I was still in the middle of changing into what I am now," Fred continued. "Somedays I was fine. Other days, I couldn't even walk. Erik... well, I wasn't doing my job. I couldn't. He said I was useless and threw me out. Then Erik and Pietro had a big yelling match. That was when Pietro walked out on his dad."

Then Fred paused, lost in thought. Even after all that time, he was obviously still hurt by Erik's rejection. I've seen that before. Erik Lehnsherr has a way about him. He gets under people's skin - they want to please him.

Fred sighed and began speaking again. "It was just me and Pietro. A lot of the time I couldn't do much of anything. Pietro's powers were pretty iffy back then, too. We were sleeping in an empty building down by the docks and stealing food from a warehouse at the other end of the block. But then I started going through a real bad stretch. I was flat on my back for days on end and everything hurt. I figured I was dying. Pietro decided he had to come up with some cash for a doctor - or maybe he thought it would be for a funeral."

I put my cup down on the table with a thud.

"That's why you stick with Pietro," I said almost angrily - I'd always wondered. "It's not like he's a criminal genius and you're all rolling in the dough."

Fred just nodded.

"You any closer to figurin' out who's the blackmailer?" he asked.

"No," I growled in frustration.

"Maybe," Marie said at the same time. There was a calculating look in her eyes.

* * *

We were back in our office. Marie was at her desk and had Williams' ledger book open in front of her. She'd been taking notes from it ever since we got back. It was a long and slow process, and there wasn't a lot I could do to help except stay out of the way.

It was the wee hours of the morning when Marie finally closed the book and leaned back in her chair.

"Okay, I think I've got something," she said as she tiredly rubbed her eyes.

"What?" I asked.

"Throughout the book, every time Williams films one of his movies, there's a list of payments to the people involved. There's one payment that's always there - it goes to the initial 'S' - and it's a lot of money. Or at least that's the way it was until six months ago. Then Williams began making movies without them."

* * *

"Brett didn't have a crew," Mrs. Williams said with a puzzled frown. "As far as I know, he didn't work with anyone except his actors."

It was morning and we were back at the Williams abode. The cookies were chocolate-chip this time.

"The letter 'S' doesn't mean anything to you?" Marie pressed. "It's an initial, and your husband paid that person for years. Every time he made a movie, as a matter of fact."

Mrs. Williams just shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, girls. That just doesn't ring a bell."

I tried another tack. "About six months ago, did something seem to go wrong with your husband's business? Was he distracted or angry about something?"

Mrs. Williams thought that over. "You know... Brett was more and more unhappy. He began talking about retiring. It was the first time he ever said anything like that."

"Did he say why?"

"No. Wait... yes... there was something. He said that he was having problems with his actors. They weren't performing as well as he wanted."

* * *

We gave Lucy a call and she gave us her address. We met at her apartment. It wasn't fancy, but it was conservatively outfitted and meticulously clean.

"What's up?" Lucy said after she ushered us inside. On her own time, Lucy turned down the heat a few notches. She was wearing a completely ordinary dress and a pair of modest high-heels. She also didn't have on much in the way of makeup.

I didn't see any reason to beat around the bush. "When you made movies for Brett Williams, did he have any kind of crew?"

Lucy shook her head. "Nope. It was just him and the actors. He ran the camera, worked the lights, and did any set work that had to be done. Every now and then we'd pitch in if he needed a hand, but that didn't happen too often. Brett was big on making sure everything was ready to go when we showed up - we got paid by the hour, after all."

"There was nobody else there? Nobody at all?" Marie broke in.

Lucy shook her head again - and then paused. "Well... there was the doughnut girl."

"Doughnut girl?" Marie and I asked simultaneously.

"Yeah," Lucy said. "Brett always had coffee and doughnuts on the set. Stacey would bring them over. I figured she worked at a local diner or something."

"Did you ever catch her last name?"

"No, but... uhm..." then Lucy ground to an obviously embarrassed halt.

"What's wrong?" Marie asked.

Then Lucy rolled her eyes and made a decision to keep talking. "She's like you two. You know... she's different from most people. Sorry, I'm not sure how to say that."

"We aren't delicate about being mutants," I assured her. "Just tell us what you know."

Lucy seemed to accept that. "Stacey is kind of pretty in her way, but she has light orange skin and scales. The scales run up her neck and around the sides of her face. You can't see them unless the light hits her just right. She's also got this dark ridge over her eyes and framing the sides of her face. And her eyes are weird - green, but the pupils are slits."

Marie and I looked at each other. That wasn't ringing any bells, but there are a lot of mutants in this town. Given Lucy's description, if we'd ever met Stacey we certainly would have remembered her.

"You ever talk to her about anything?" I asked.

Lucy shrugged, "Just small-talk about work and weather. She seemed like an okay kid."

"She ever say anything about what you were doing?" Marie asked.

Lucy very definitely shook her head. "Nah - and I got to admit that was maybe a little surprising. One day she showed up late. We already had our clothes off and I was fluffing the guys. She didn't even blink an eye. Just started pouring coffee and handing around the box of doughnuts. She handed me a coffee while I was on my knees in front of a guy."

"Any else about her that stuck out?"

"She was the touchy-feely kind of friendly," Lucy replied immediately. "She liked to shake hands, kiss you on the cheek, and touch you on the hands or shoulders while you were talking. I figured it just meant she was lonely, or maybe just came from somewhere where that was okay. I once told her that she should be careful about doing that sort of thing with guys - they might misunderstand - but she just laughed it off."

"Did she and Brett ever talk to each other?" I continued.

"Some... not much," Lucy responded. Then she frowned.

"What?" I asked.

"You know, now that I think about it... there was something odd," Lucy began slowly. "One day, I was coming out of the bathroom and walked right into a talk that Brett and Stacey were having. Brett was saying something that didn't make much sense. He said that we were going to have a long day and Stacey should make sure that everyone got a double dose. At the time, I figured he was just talking about coffee, but it just sounded strange."

I glanced at Marie, she had the same look of sudden suspicion on her face that I imagine I did.

* * *

"Hey, sweetheart," Lucy purred at Jean Grey.

Jean gave Lucy a politely amused look. I suppose if you look like Jean, you spend a lot of time warding off hopeful pursuers.

"I remember you," Jean said quietly.

"I hope so," Lucy responded with a big and slightly predatory grin.

We were in a private study room of the woman's hall at the University. It was finals week and the only way Jean could fit us into her schedule was to meet us there.

"We need to know if anyone's tampered with Lucy," I said.

"Too late for that," Lucy chuckled. Marie barely managed to stifle a laugh. Around Jean, Lucy was in full-tart mode.

"It might have been a few years back," I added.

Jean gave me a doubtful look. "That's a long time to look for signs of psychic influence."

"Just give it your best shot," I replied with a shrug. Jean consults for us. She has rules when and how she'll use her powers, but she's always helpful if she thinks somebody has been messed with psychically.

"I'll have to touch you," Jean told Lucy.

"Go ahead," Lucy replied, obviously amused by Jean's hesitancy. "Just remember that I might decide to touch back."

Jean was trying to keep a straight face as she reached over and put the palm of her hand on Lucy's forehead. It was an oddly motherly gesture.

Lucy froze. Her eyes were suddenly blank. Marie and I caught her before she fell.

Then Jean's face suddenly blushed deep red.

Oops.

Marie winced. "Maybe we should have told Jean what she might find in Lucy's head," she said to me.

* * *

"Sorry about that," I said to Jean. "I should have warned you." It was the second time I'd apologized.

Lucy was curled up in a nearby chair, her head in her arms and her feet tucked underneath her body, dozing peacefully. She looked at peace.

Jean gave me a long, level, look. "Stop apologizing, Dom! I was just surprised. And you're right, Lucy has been influenced. Multiple times as a matter of fact."

"Is she in any kind of danger?" Marie asked quickly.

Jean looked at Marie and frowned, obviously not sure how to answer.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I think it was pheromonic behavior modification," Jean replied distractedly.

I had no idea what 'pheromonic' meant. "So what did it do to her?"

Jean was beginning to look embarrassed again. How a woman who sleeps with Emma Frost can still hold onto the slightest trace of feminine modesty is beyond me.

"It had a powerful hormonal effect on Lucy," Jean answered. "It made her into an... enthusiastic performer... in those movies."

"So Stacey is a psychic?" Marie asked.

Jean looked doubtful. "Not quite. What happened to Lucy is chemical-based - it's a part of this Stacey woman's personal scent and touch. I think she has a very simple, but powerful, talent that's focused around one thing."

"She makes people horny?" I said, trying to control the skepticism in my voice.

"Really horny," Jean confirmed.

Marie looked at me. "You said one of the reason's Williams' films were considered so good was because of the great job his actors did."

I nodded. "And now we know how he got such good performances out of them."

I looked back at Jean. She was studying the sleeping Lucy. I could tell by the look in Jean's eyes that something was really bothering her.

"What's wrong, Jean?" I asked.

Jean looked at me, her green eyes serious and troubled. "Lucy was sixteen when she began making those movies. The experience made a terrific impression on her. It changed her. It modified her opinion of herself - and the way she acts and thinks."

I didn't say anything. I didn't like the implications.

Marie hesitated before responding. "I think I see what you're saying."

Jean shook her head. "Lucy made the switch from nudie movies to actual sex movies after the first time she met Stacey."

I let out a low whistle.

Jean nodded. "But even after she left, Lucy went to work as a different kind of sexual performer. I've been inside Lucy's mind, Dom. She really can't conceive of any other way to live."

"She's not the first woman - or man - to make a living with their bodies," I pointed out.

Jean nodded. "But Lucy didn't exactly make a choice. Instead, it was mostly made for her by someone else."

"Jean..." Marie said cautiously. "What are you going to do?"

Jean looked at Lucy for a long moment.

"I don't know," Jean said softly - almost as if she were talking to herself. "I'm not sure what's right or wrong here."

There was a long, nervous, silence.

"Jean," I spoke up quietly. "Marie and I are gonna take Lucy home. Otherwise... well, let's take our time and think this over before we do anything else."

Jean nodded. Her eyes were still distant and troubled.

* * *

Jean was still considering her options as we snuck Lucy out the back of the student center. Lucy had been knocked for a loop by her session with Jean and was barely able to keep on her feet. Marie and I were on either side of Lucy, holding her upright. Anyone seeing us would have assumed that she was drunk. Since the last thing I wanted was to have a run-in with some college cops, we did our best to keep out of sight.

Fortunately, the car was parked nearby, in a small lot that was concealed by a row of meticulously trimmed trees. The fact it was finals week also worked in our favor. There weren't too many students wandering around - everyone was hitting the books instead.

Marie was steadying Lucy as I opened the back door of the car. I swear, I just looked away for a second. But Lucy was a fast operator.

"Lucy... cut it out," I heard Marie say gently.

Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Lucy had been busy. Marie's jacket was open and her blouse partially unbuttoned. Marie was trying to keep Lucy from falling on her ass while simultaneously preventing Lucy from removing her shirt.

Then Lucy giggled and leaned forward. Marie tried to turn away, but Lucy grabbed her by the chin and turned her face forward. Their lips collided. Marie stiffened... and then relaxed and used to opportunity to guide Lucy back towards the car.

"Lesss'us go back to Jeanie," Lucy slurred at Marie once they broke apart. "We'll have a lil' fun."

I took Lucy firmly by the arms and pivoted her away from Marie and towards the back of the car.

"You too..." Lucy added dreamily. "Y'r not as pretty as y'r friends, but y'll do..."

"How could I resist a smooth line like that?" I asked Lucy as I stuffed her into the back seat. The amount of squeezing, stroking, fondling, and licking I endured in the process was amazing. Lucy had a two-handed grip on my ass and a tongue in my ear by the time Marie finally grabbed me by the back of my collar and yanked me loose.

"Ya'know... ya gotta butt kinda like some guys," Lucy called out to me just before Marie slammed the door shut. "Nis'an' hard..."

Marie and I got in the front of the car, but halfway back to Lucy's place, Marie had to jump in the back after Lucy stripped naked and began mooning passing cars.

Lucy was asleep again by the time we got her home. We put her to bed, and then more-or-less fled the scene.

* * *

Back at the office, I called Remy and told him not to expect Lucy to show up at work that night. There was a long pause, and then Remy accepted what I'd said without any comment.

Then Marie and I took turns calling every contact we had. We were asking around about a mutant woman named Stacey.

Honestly, we should have known to call Hank first.

* * *

Hank McCoy is a big bear of a guy who's the number two in charge of the biggest gang in town. And although he doesn't look it, he's incredibly smart. It was after business hours when we caught up to Hank at his place. He was dressed in a tux - which was a sight worth seeing.

"Funeral or a wedding?" I asked curiously as I examined his togs. It wasn't the right time of day for either.

"The opera," Hank replied with a pained expression.

I nodded doubtfully. Marie just gave me an exasperated look.

"What can you tell us about this Stacey girl?" I asked.

Hank was holding a top hat - no, I'm not kidding. He rotated the brim in his hands thoughtfully before he replied.

"She's a small timer. Used to work as a hooker, but got out of the life a few years ago. However, she sticks out in a crowd and I hear things about her every now and then."

"What kind of things?"

"She has a nice place, drives a new car, eats in fancy places, buys high-end booze, and doesn't seem to have a job. But she's not associated with any of the local gangs as either a member, associate, or a dues-paying independent. I always figured she had a sugar-daddy."

"She might be in the blackmail business," I said.

Hank nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. She might know a lot of secrets - and from what I hear, she's got a vicious streak."

"Where's she live?" Marie asked.

Hank gave us a long look. Then he reeled off an address. With anyone else, the fact he had that information so readily available would have been suspicious, but Hank has an incredible memory.

"What do you know about her powers?" I asked.

Hank let out a barking laugh. "She's apparently the best lay in the world. Our tame mad-scientist says there's something about the chemistry of her scent and touch. She can rev your engine like nobody else. She used to get top dollar for that."

"Anything else?" Marie added.

"Don't underestimate her in a fight," Hank said. "According to what I've heard, she's really fast and can both take and hand out a punch."

* * *

Marie and I have learned the hard way to not directly take on people who can screw with your mind.

"Everyone says she's not a psychic," Marie said thoughtfully. "Her power is about body chemistry."

"That helps," I agreed, "but we'll still want backup from someone who can counter whatever she might throw at us."

We were home and in bed. Marie was wearing a pair of pajama tops. I was wearing the bottoms. Marie is pretty adamant about having access to my breasts when we're in bed.

"Give Jean a call," Marie suggested. "See what time she's free tomorrow."

That made a lot of sense.

"Hiring Jean as a part-timer is one of the best ideas you've ever had," I said as I reached for the phone. Among other things, that means I don't have to ask favors from Emma. I owe her too many as is. And I dread the day she calls them in.

Jean picked up immediately.

"Hi, Jean, it's Dom," I said. "Oops."

The 'oops' was because as soon as I as I started talking to Jean, Marie threw the covers back and yanked off my pajama bottoms. They went flying across the room, through the bedroom door, and out into the hallway.

"What's up?" Jean asked.

"Uhm," I said as I tried to keep my legs together. But Marie is a lot stronger than she looks. "We're planning on having a talk with Stacey tomorrow. It would help if you could run interference for us."

"Sure. I've got an oral exam in the morning. I should be done by ten."

By then I'd lost the war south of my then nonexistent belt buckle and Marie had me spread wide open. Marie was laying between my legs, her bare feet up in the air and crossed at the ankles as she gave me her own version of an oral exam.

"That's... GREAT! I mean... uhm... we'll-pick-you-up-after-ten!"

"She's going down on you, isn't she?" Jean asked in a resigned tone.

My eyes were clenched shut and I had a two-handed death-grip on the phone. "Yes!"

Jean sighed. "You know, I'm in a bit of a quandary, Dom. On one hand, a proper lady should be offended at being made a part of such licentious behavior and hang up the phone."

"Yes!"

"On the other hand," Jean continued. "You two are my friends, and I should do everything I can to help my friends."

"Yes!"

"So tell you what, Dom - let me give you a detailed description of what Emma and I did last weekend. I mean, that's just girl-talk. I'm certainly not involving myself in anything untoward by telling you that. Right?"

"Yes!"

"Well, Emma and I were at a party and ran into two very pretty girls from the Japanese embassy. They said they were secretaries and translators, but they're actually spies, of course. They're from a branch of the Black Ocean society that's specially trained to use sex to get useful information from important foreigners. They've had their eye on Emma for a couple of months now, and..."

Yes.

Oh, yes.

* * *

The next morning, Marie and I drove to the university and picked up Jean. As always, when she was on campus, Jean was dressed conservatively. Most people would have mistaken her for a particularly good-looking secretary.

"How was your last test?" I asked her as she jumped into the back-seat. Marie leaned back over the front-seat and kissed Jean on the cheek.

Jean kissed Marie back and said, "Not bad, but there was a blackboard problem that I couldn't figure out. I'm okay at physics, but I'm not good at it."

I shrugged, "You've got to be better at it than me. I barely finished high-school."

"Fortunately, I went to the best schools Mississippi had to offer," Marie chimed in cheerfully. "On good days, I can even count to twelve without taking off my shoes."

I think one of the things Marie admires about Jean is that she's going to college. Marie is pretty sure she missed out on something by not getting much of an education. And she's scared at the thought of going back to school. Which is just silly - Marie is one of the smartest people I know.

"I'm not sure if I believe the part about eating sushi off the naked body of that Japanese spy," I suddenly said to Jean.

Jean smiled and held up a hand as if she were taking an oath on the Bible. "It's the God's honest truth, Dom."

"What?" Marie asked in confusion.

* * *

Stacey did live in a pretty up-scale place. Not the Emma-level of nice, but still fancy. In fact, we weren't that far from the building where Emma and Jean lived.

Jean did what she does and we just walked past the doorman. He simply didn't see us. I did a quick, over-the-shoulder, check of his logbook. Stacey wasn't listed as having left the building. I wonder how many of the very well-off realize that their comings and goings are so closely tracked? The people they probably can't help but think of as 'inferiors' know a lot more about their 'betters' than those 'betters' might find comfortable.

"I'll go in," I told Jean and Marie as we rode the elevator to the tenth floor. "You wait at the end of the hall."

*Right* Jean said as she kicked on psychic link with me.

"Okay," Marie said doubtfully. She doesn't like being separated from me when we're on a case. To be fair, the last time we did that, it hadn't gone well for me.

Jean and Emma stayed near the elevators as I walked down the hallway, checking door numbers.

I stopped at Stacey's door and glanced back towards Jean and Marie.

*Somebody's home,* Jean 'said' to me. *I can detect two people. Both female. I'm not going any deeper than that right now. We don't know the extent of Stacey's powers - she might be able to sense me.*

What Jean didn't say was that she had rules. She doesn't go into people's minds unless it was absolutely necessary. Influencing a doorman not to see us is okay. Scanning for somebody's presence was acceptable. A scan of surface thoughts to see if someone was telling the truth was also fine. But diving hip-deep in the loves, hates, fears, and shames of another person's mind was something else. Jean once told me that part of the reason Emma is the way she is because she's too free with her powers. Jean is trying to be more careful.

I nodded - even though that wasn't necessary - and pressed the door buzzer.

Stacey answered the door.

* * *

At a casual glance, you might think Stacey was a pretty twenty-something with exotic makeup and unfashionably short hair. Face-to-face in the doorway, I could see that she was a mutant. The back light of the open windows in her apartment made the fine scales on the side of her neck and cheeks stand out. And her dark-slitted green eyes were actually quite attractive in their odd way.

"Hi," I said as I flashed the leather case that held my PI license. "My name's Domino. I'm a private eye. I was wondering if we could talk?"

Stacey frowned. "How did you get up here? The doorman didn't call me."

"I snuck past him," I said neutrally. "It's not his fault. I'm pretty good at it."

"I don't have time to..." she began irritably.

"It's about Brett Williams and the work you used to do for him," I interrupted.

Stacey gave me a long look. Then she stepped away from the door.

"Come in," she said.

* * *

The interior of the apartment was expensively decorated, but was rather scattershot in terms of style. I've seen that before. Mobsters and businessmen who are born poor, but eventually find themselves with a lot of money tend to surround themselves with unrelated, but expensive, stuff that isn't always in the best of taste.

Except for us, there was nobody else in the living room.

*The second woman is in the bedroom - off to your left,* Jean sent to me.

"What do you want?" Stacey asked. Her body language was interesting. It was relaxed, but ready. And the distance between us was carefully calculated to let her get physical if necessary. Violence was an option to her.

No, I'm not a psychic, but I speak the language of fighting pretty well.

"We know about your power, Stacey," I told her - slightly emphasizing the word 'we'. "We know that you used to work for Brett Williams, giving his actors a push that made them do a better job in front of the camera."

Stacey absorbed that silently, her eyes meeting mine.

I felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Stacey. Despite her quirky looks, she was so pretty and sexy and I was about to make things hard for her. I wanted to reach out and touch her...

Oh.

*She's influencing you,* Jean sent.

*I know,* I sent back. Whatever Stacey was doing, it was potent. I knew what was happening and it was still getting to me.

*Don't let her touch you.*

"Cut it out, Stacey," I said levelly, taking a step back and shifting my jacket open so she could catch a glimpse of my shoulder holster.

Stacey blinked in surprise.

"You're not my type," I added coldly. Which was a lie. Right then, she was definitely my type.

"What do you want?" Stacey asked. She was obviously off-balance.

"Somebody is using Brett's work to blackmail people," I responded. "Do you know anything about that?"

One problem with having powers is that you can rely too much on them. Stacey wasn't used to people knowing what she was doing to them and successfully ignoring it. She was used to being in control. And she was having problems dealing with a situation when she couldn't power her way through it.

And the expression on Stacey's face told me everything I needed to know.

"I'm not the cops, Stacey," I said softly. "I've been hired to deal with one particular problem. Let's settle that peaceably and I'll leave. You've done it before. You can do it again."

I wasn't happy about what I'd just said, but it was true. Fred was our client and we owed him a resolution before anything else. I wasn't here to get in a fight with Stacey. Later on I would figure out what to do about the rest of Stacey's blackmail racket. Right then I had to protect the interests of my client.

A mental image of Jean and Marie hurrying down the hall came to me. *Trouble. The other woman's on the move,* Jean warned.

Moving fast, I stepped further back and put a hand under my jacket and on my semi-automatic.

The bedroom door swung open. A tall and beautiful redhead was standing on the other side. And she was dressed all in red - from her shoes to her hat. I didn't recognize her, but there was something about her face...

"Who are you?" I asked, slightly shifting my posture so I was more focused on the redhead.

Stacey was frozen. "Don't hurt her," she said anxiously to me.

Behind me, the apartment door opened. Marie and Jean were right behind me.

The lady in red smiled. That was amazing and scary at the same time.

"My name is Wanda Maximoff," she said, as if that explained everything in the world.

Then Wanda made a gesture with her hand and everything exploded around us in a whirlwind of debris. I was thrown backward, slamming against the door-frame and then collapsing to the floor. I painfully tried to get to my feet, but everything seemed peculiarly hazy and out-of-whack. My sense of balance was way off and my eyes refused to focus.

Not able to see clearly, I fumbled for my gun. But then somebody pulled my hand away and yanked my automatic out of its shoulder-holster. I heard a clatter as it was thrown across the room.

"We need to get out of here!" Wanda said urgently. Her voice had lost its previously mature aspect and was now that of a scared girl.

"That's okay, sweetie," I heard Stacey say reassuringly. "I'll give them something to keep them busy."

Somebody touched me on the back of my neck. And then everything seemed to tilt and become even hazier. Something that I can only describe as boundless, dizzying, lust poured through me.

In a daze, I whispered a woman's name.

* * *

I woke up in a comfortable bed. It was morning.

The bed I was in wasn't the one back at the apartment that Marie and I share. However, I knew whose bed it was.

The only thing covering me was a sheet and I wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Jean was curled next to me, her head on my shoulder and a warm hand on my stomach. Marie was on the other side of Jean, spooned up against her. Marie is a tall girl, she made a good bigger spoon for Jean.

A woman was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She was wearing a short robe of expensive, transparent silk that she hadn't bothered to tie shut. Her bare feet were propped up on the corner of the bed, crossed at the ankles. I don't know why I noticed it, but she'd had a recent pedicure.

There was a bottle and two glasses on the nightstand. One of the glasses was half-full. The woman poured a drink into the other glass and handed it to me. I sat up slowly, carefully untangling myself from Jean as I did. There was a moment when I couldn't make up my mind if I should keep the sheet wrapped around my upper body. I'm far from being a blushing maiden, but this situation was different.

In the end, I let the sheet fall. After all, it wasn't like my body was a stranger to anyone in the bedroom.

"I can tell that you're confused," Emma Frost asked me. "How much do you remember?"

I winced. "Bits and pieces," I said. Actually, most of what I could remember involved bare skin. Lots and lots of bare, feminine, skin.

Still asleep, Jean noticed that I had moved out of contact with her. She shifted towards me, rested her head on my midsection, and then casually reached up and squeezed one of my breasts. A long-nailed thumb flicked one of my nipples. I grimaced. My nipples were a little sore. They'd seen a lot of action last night.

Emma was obviously trying not to smile. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

I shook my head.

"May I join you?" she asked. By now she was definitely smiling.

"It's your bed," I pointed out tiredly. There was not point in protesting about that sort of thing.

Emma stood up and there was a spectacular moment when she ditched her robe. Then she slid into bed next to me.

So there I was, sandwiched between a naked Emma Frost and an equally naked Jean Grey. And my konked-out girlfriend was laying less than a yard away, a blissfully peaceful look on her sleeping face.

Emma made herself comfortable, which involved pressing a lot of her long, warm, and bare body against mine. She had her head propped up in one hand and was examining the side of my face. Her other hand was roaming up and down my thigh, her long fingers splayed open, as if to touch as much of me as possible.

"Do you want me to tell you what happened?" she asked.

For a moment, I seriously considered getting out of the bed and running away.

"Go ahead," I finally replied. I had to face the situation sooner or later.

"So there I was," Emma began thoughtfully. "Having a quiet evening at home, baking cookies for the poor kids down at the orphanage, planning my next church social, and generally thinking nothing but purely virtuous and completely heterosexual thoughts. And then a trio of sexy and horny hellcats invaded my home, wickedly intent on defiling my quivering flesh. They undressed me in the living room and did all sorts of degrading, immoral, and indecent things to me - and to each other - on the floor, the couch, the coffee table, the piano, the fireplace mantel, and the balcony. And then they dragged me into the bedroom and things became very serious."

I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes. I made a "stop" gesture with my hand.

It was all coming back to me.

But Emma told me the rest of the story anyway. All of it.

Yikes.

* * *

Jean woke. And then Marie. And then we had the most awkward half-hour in the history of time. Except for Emma, of course. She was positively glowing with happiness.

She helped Marie and I get dressed and then gave us each a long goodbye kiss.

Meanwhile, Jean hid in the bathroom.

* * *

The car was illegally parked and its windshield was covered with tickets. I was surprised it hadn't been towed. It also had a few dents. Jean and Marie had insisted on doing all sorts of things to me while I was trying to drive. We'd sort of ricocheted our way from Stacey's place to Emma's.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Marie said after we got in.

I shook my head.

"Well, I do," she said as she gave me a determined look. "I have some questions."

I hesitated. "Well... okay."

Then Marie paused before going on. "Did I spank Emma?"

"Yes."

"Did she spank me?"

"Twice."

"Did Jean and I really do that thing on the balcony - where people in the building across the street were cheering and yelling suggestions?"

"That happened."

"Do Emma and Jean really own a two-headed dildo they call 'Scott'?"

"Yes."

Then Marie nervously licked her lips and hesitantly described something that involved all four of us in a complex formation on Emma's bed.

"That happened," I answered, "but we switched positions a lot."

Marie stopped asking questions.

* * *

We didn't go back to our apartment. And we didn't go back to the office.

"Call me silly," Marie told me, "but I don't think I can look Sooraya in the eyes right now."

I nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"But we do have a new lead," Marie suggested.

"Wanda Maximoff," I agreed. "Okay, who would know the details about the Lehnsherr-Maximoff family tree?"

Marie shook my head, "We obviously can't talk to either Erik or Pietro."

"That's right, but who knows more about Pietro than anyone else in the world?"

"Oh... yeah," Marie responded after a moment of thought.

* * *

Mortimer Toynbee is an ugly, short, low-powered, mutant who also happens to be Pietro Maximoff's main squeeze. He has a small apartment in one of the city's less desirable neighborhoods. He and Pietro have been together for a long time. Once, after Pietro and I'd had more than a few drinks, I asked Pietro why he stayed with Mortimer. It turns out there isn't much of anything that Mortimer won't do in bed.

He's also talkative. Questioning Mortimer never requires much in the way of bribery or threats.

"Yeah, Pietro has a sister," Mortimer answered immediately. There was a touch of regret in his voice.

"I never knew that," I said carefully. That was bugging me. I know this town. I know Pietro and his gang. I know Erik Lehnsherr. Yet I'd never heard of Wanda Maximoff.

Mortimer looked to the heavens for strength. "Dear daddy makes everything crazy in that family. The way I heard it, the sister isn't right in the head, and has some nasty powers that she can't completely control. So Erik put her away in a rubber room - an expensive place that's supposed to know how to deal with our kind. And since Erik and Pietro don't like to talk about her, most people don't know she exists."

And since Lehnsherr didn't like to talk about his daughter, most people who knew about her had the common sense to keep their traps shut. It was a good thing we were talking to someone who didn't have a lot of common sense.

"How's Pietro get along with her?" Marie asked.

"He doesn't," Mortimer grunted. "They haven't seen each other since they were kids. Yeah, Pietro feels sorry for her, but he doesn't really know her."

"Does he know that she's in town?" I asked.

Mortimer laughed grimly. "If he does, he hasn't said anything about it to me."

* * *

The public health workers in this town are woefully underpaid. One of the guys in the Mental Hygiene department broke a lot of rules in exchange for some pathetically minor financial consideration.

Within a few hours, I was looking at a file.

"Wendy Maximillian," I read aloud.

"Wow," Marie said in disgust. "Erik can be such a criminal mastermind sometimes."

"She was committed to something called 'the Dunwich Home for Disturbed Young Women' about ten years back," I continued. "And she's supposedly still there."

Marie frowned and looked over my shoulder. Her hair brushed the side of my face and her scent washed over me. She'd been doing little things like that ever since the night before. I guess she was letting me know that she wasn't turning away from me.

I was grateful.

"Maybe this file is out of date?" she suggested.

"Maybe," I said as I reached up and ran a finger through that white streak in her hair. That made her smile. "Or maybe Erik doesn't want anyone to know that she's loose."

"Anything useful here?" Marie said as she picked up the file and flipped through it.

"Nothing yet," I said with a frown as I scanned a page.

"Wait... here's something," Marie said suddenly, handing me a piece of paper. It was one of the half-dozen forms that Erik had filed in order to commit Wanda. One of Marie's long fingernails was pointing to something. It was an address. The place where the Lehnsherr's were living when Wanda was sent to the asylum.

"Erik faked her name. This could be fake as well," I said cautiously.

Marie shook her head. "Remember how, back when I worked for Logan, I used to talk to Erik regularly? He told me about the places where he used to live here in town. This one sounds right. And you're the one who told me how people can't quite resist their old homes. How big is that urge after ten years of living in an asylum?"

"It's worth a look," I said with a nod.

* * *

Jean met us in front of her apartment building. I'd been hesitant about calling her, but I didn't have a good argument when Marie told me that Jean now had just as much of a right to be involved in the case as we did.

I give Jean a lot of credit. She doesn't come from a rough-and-tumble background like me and Marie. A lot of gently-raised women in her position would have decided to forget that we existed and then made a point of never seeing us again. Instead, she was waiting for us outside the front door of her building when we drove up.

The doorman was talking to Jean. He had stars in his eyes and was trying to put the moves on her. Jean was being polite, but her body language was sending the message that she wasn't interested. I'll say it again, maybe it isn't a good thing to be as pretty as Jean Grey.

The doorman held the back door of the car open as Jean slipped inside.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. I pulled us away from the curb and drove down the street.

"We have to say something," Marie finally growled. She has a pretty good growl for a woman with her looks. I think all the time she spent with a fellow named Logan - he's this town's biggest crime boss - has something to do with it.

I couldn't think of anything to say. Apparently, neither could Jean.

A disgusted look appeared on Marie's face. "Okay, I'll start. Look, there's nobody in this car who hasn't seen the others naked and invoking the Lord's name in vain as they loudly climaxed. That's embarrassing, but we all damn well know that all Stacey really did was grab something that was already in us and give it a hard push."

I nodded as I watched Jean through the rear-view mirror. Jean also nodded.

Marie continued relentlessly, her eyes determined. "When you get down to it, the person in our little foursome who has the biggest right to be offended and angry is the woman we yanked into it. So tell me, Jean, how's Emma?"

A distinctly exasperated look appeared on Jean's face.

"She has this triumphant little smirk on her face that just won't go away. She's wandering around the apartment, humming to herself and singing scraps of opera. She ordered some very nice flowers for you two - they've probably been delivered to your office by now. And every time I pass within range, she fondles and kisses me."

"There's a woman who's obviously deep in the throes of remorse," I suggested thoughtfully.

Jean's eyes met mine in the mirror. "One of the reasons I'm out with you guys is because all of the kissy-touchy-happy stuff is driving me crazy. When Emma is like that, a little goes a long way."

"You know, of the four of us, Emma and I are the ones who aren't exactly friends," Marie continued relentlessly. "And she and I spent a lot of yesterday exploring each other's caves. If we can live with that, then what's the problem with you two?"

"'Exploring each other's caves?'" Jean repeated with wide eyes. There was something like shocked amazement in her voice.

I just shook my head in disbelief. Marie does have an ability to put things bluntly.

Marie gave Jean a smile that was all southern sassiness. "What's wrong, college-girl? Surprised that the hick from Mississippi can use metaphors?"

Jean covered her mouth with both hands as she began to laugh helplessly.

* * *

The old Lehnsherr place was a small and slightly run-down cottage in a neighborhood that was going to seed. It had the look of being older than the other houses on the street. There were no signs of activity.

"At least one of them is here," I said as we drove past.

Marie and Jean both looked at me in surprise.

I nodded towards a parked car. "That Buick with the cracked passenger side brake light? Yesterday, it was outside of Stacey's apartment building."

Then I glanced at Jean, "How's it look in there?"

Jean gave the house a long, searching, look. "They're both inside."

"Now what?" Marie asked.

There was a smile on my face that didn't really match how I was feeling. "Yesterday, they surprised us. Today, we surprise them."

* * *

I made a few calls from a phone-booth outside of a local bar. We needed a little help for what I had in mind.

There's a fellow named Mac who runs a newspaper-stand just across from our office. Mac used to do some questionable things for a living before he came up with enough cash to settle down. Among other things, he owns an interesting array of uniforms. And for five dollars, he's willing to dress up for us.

This time, Mac was dressed as an employee for the gas company. He was carrying a clipboard and a pencil when he knocked on the front-door of the cottage.

I was standing to one side of the door. Marie and Jean were on the other side.

The door had a window in it. I saw the curtain flicker as someone inside checked to see who was outside.

Then Stacey opened the door. There was a puzzled look on her face.

Mac stepped hastily out of the way as I grabbed Stacey by the front of her blouse and yanked her outside. She was still gaping in surprise when I hit her with a right cross that whipped her head to the side. Meanwhile, Marie and Jean entered the house. There was an almost immediate crash from inside and I heard a woman screech in outrage.

Stacey was a tough costumer. She recovered from my blow and threw a counter-punch. It was fast and strong, but I could tell that Stacey wasn't a trained fighter. She depended on her greater than normal strength and speed.

I slipped away from Stacey's punch and responded with a classic - a pair of left jabs followed by a right hook. She dodged the jabs, but didn't see the right coming. Stacey slammed against the side of the house, obviously stunned. I came in fast and landed a short, but powerful, punch to her midsection. That knocked the breath out of her and she slid down onto her ass.

Her leg sweep was a lot faster than I expected. It didn't knock me down, but it did put me off-balance. By then, Stacey had realized that she couldn't out-box me. She lunged towards me, trying to take me down at the knees. Instead, I slammed my right knee into her face. Her nose broke and blood started flowing down her face. She went to her hands and knees, but was still game. I landed a pair of punches as she tried to get to her feet. She went flat, and I didn't hesitate to soccer-kick her in the side of the head.

That finally put her out.

I pulled up the gasmask I was wearing, stepped well away from Stacey, and took a deep breath of fresh air. I hate the damn things, but if you're fighting someone whose power is based on scent, it's a good idea to wear one. Sooraya had given it to Mac and he'd brought it with him.

"You're a dirty fighter, Dom," Mac called from the sidewalk. I'd specifically ordered him to get out of the way once the fight started, and he'd done as he was told. It was then that I noticed that Mac had a snub-barreled .38 in his hand, but he was holding it in a way that made it inobvious if you weren't looking for a gun.

Not for the first time, I wondered exactly what Mac had done when he'd been on the wrong side of the law. That was the kind of move a hitman would know.

Keeping an eye on Stacey - I had the feeling that she might recover quickly - I peered around the edge of the front door.

Wanda was laying on the living room floor, out like a light. She had the look that comes with being knocked silly by Marie's power. Jean was standing nearby, nursing a set of bruised knuckles as she stared daggers at Wanda. Apparently Jean hadn't been able to resist landing a punch. I made a mental note to teach her how to throw one properly.

Marie was staring at Wanda as she spoke to me. "That was fast," she said.

I just shrugged. This time, we'd set the rules on how the fight was going to go. That made all the difference.

"What did you see inside Wanda's head?" I asked.

Marie and Jean looked at me simultaneously. They both looked disturbed - and concerned.

"She's a mess," Marie told me abruptly.

Jean frowned for a moment before replying. "It's like there's... static. Lots of static. Sometimes you can see her clearly through it. Other times, everything is flickering and unclear."

Okay, I had no clue what any of that meant, but it was obvious that Marie and Jean were worried.

* * *

We were back in Brett Williams' studio. It was nicely isolated and I didn't want anyone interrupting the talk we were about to have with Stacey.

Wanda surprised me by waking up first. Quick as a cat, she scrambled to her feet and jerked against the handcuffs that were keeping her attached to a radiator. The radiator shifted and creaked, and flakes of plaster flew from where the pipes met the wall, but it stayed in place.

The savage snarl on Wanda's face would have done credit to a tiger. Suddenly, I had a hand in my jacket and on my handgun. I didn't think it was possible for her to break loose, but...

Wanda scanned the three of us, glaring at us one by one. You could see a bottomless pit of hurt and crazy and anger in her eyes. She didn't like being chained down.

I'd searched Wanda when we got to the studio, making sure she wasn't carrying any weapons. The dark-red, primly-cut jacket she normally wore was hanging from a coat hook on the back of the office door. In her frantic jump to her feet, she'd lost the buttons to a cuff of her blouse. The cuff was riding up on her forearm and you could see neat rows of old needle tracks.

I looked back up to Wanda's face. So that was how that fine and respectable institute for 'disturbed young women' had kept Wanda under control.

Wanda made a gesture towards us with her hands - her fingers spread wide and the thumbs almost touching. And nothing happened. She blinked in surprise.

Around Wanda's neck was once of those fancy collars that Logan's gang uses. It shuts down most mutant powers. A while back, we'd paid Logan a pretty penny for a couple of them - and as far as we were concerned, they were worth every cent. I wasn't sure what Wanda had hit us with at Stacey's apartment, but I wasn't in a hurry to repeat the experience.

"Easy, sugar," Marie said calmly. "We don't mean you any harm. We want to talk to your friend."

Marie and Jean were sitting at the office desk. I was leaning against the same desk. We were warily watching our two prisoners.

Wanda didn't say anything. She just cocked her head and looked at Marie - like a dog catching a scent it didn't quite understand or like.

The noise woke Stacey. She blearily opened her eyes, and then slowly sat up, going into a cross-legged position. She was cuffed to the same radiator as Wanda. There was dried blood on her mouth, chin, and blouse. Both of her eyes had gone black - that happens when you have a broken nose.

Stacey recognized the studio of course. "Never thought I'd be here again," she said with a sigh.

Then Stacey reached over and touched Wanda's red-silk-clad calf. "It's okay, sweetie," she said quietly. "Sit down with me."

Wanda was still staring daggers at us, but she did as Stacey said. As Wanda sat down, Stacey noticed the collar that Wanda was wearing. Then she reached up and touched the one that was around her own neck.

"They shut down your powers," I informed her. Stacey and Wanda didn't say anything, but they both shifted nervously.

"Stacey," Wanda said wonderingly. "The noise in my head is gone."

Stacey seemed to think that over. Then she took Wanda by the hand and gripped it tight. "That's good, baby. Now let me talk with these ladies."

"You bet," I said with a shrug, "let's talk."

* * *

"You know what happened to you last night?" Stacey said carefully. "I can give you that - over and over again. Let us go and we can make a deal."

Now it was our turn to rustle and shift uneasily. I won't speak for Marie and Jean, but a part of me was more than a little tempted by what Stacey had just offered. It was the part of me located at the juncture of my thighs.

But unfortunately for Stacey, at the moment that part of me wasn't running things. At least not right at the moment...

"We went back to my place," Jean said sharply. "Then we jumped my girlfriend."

Stacey winced. "Oh. Uhm... yeah. That can happen. I mean... I could tell that the three of you all had a thing for each other - and that made it pretty easy to dope you up. But I figured you'd just stay in my apartment and have a party."

"Let me tell you something, sugar," Marie interjected coldly. "When I do it with someone, I'd rather it to be because I made the decision. Not because someone made it for me."

Stacey licked her lips and quickly changed tacks. "Look, you said this was about the blackmail, but I'm not doing that anymore! When LeBeau put out that word that it had to stop - that was when I knew I was in too deep! I gave up on it! I burned everything!"

Okay, that was obvious bullshit...

"She's telling the truth," Jean said suddenly. She was carefully studying Stacey's face.

"What?" Marie and I exclaimed simultaneously.

Then it hit me. I knew who was blackmailing Pietro.

I looked at Wanda and she looked back at me. And we saw the truth in each other.

"I hate him," Wanda said in the tiny voice. A pair of tears began trailing down her cheeks.

Stacey wrapped her free arm around Wanda.

"It's okay, it's okay," Stacey whispered over and over as she rocked Wanda back and forth.

* * *

I gave Wanda time to cry herself out.

"Where's the film?" I eventually asked her.

"In the attic of the house," she replied. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her body and her arms wrapped around her legs. She looked miserable.

I looked at Jean and Marie. "Go get it. Take Wanda with you."

Marie unlocked Wanda's cuffs. Within a minute, they were gone. I heard the car start up and leave.

I gave Stacey a long look. "Okay," I began, "what's the deal with you and Wanda?"

Stacey had the look on her face of a person who was so used to lying that is was their preferred means of communication.

I slapped her. Hard.

"No bullshit!" I said coldly. Truth to tell, I didn't much like Stacey.

Stacey rubbed the side of her face and then snarled at me, "She's immune to what I do!"

My eyes went narrow. "I'm listening," I said.

"She's immune," Stacey continued in a quieter, but still defiant, tone. "And she stays with me because we're friends - not because she just wants to get me into bed."

* * *

Erik handled the news that his daughter was in town with his usual cold self-discipline. It made me wonder if he'd known all along, but had decided to let it alone as long as Wanda was safe.

He only really seemed surprised when I made my suggestion.

"You want me to hire someone who stole from her previous employer," Erik Lehnsherr said. He didn't sound angry or incredulous. He was just daring me to explain.

Stacey and I were in Erik's office. It was tastefully decorated in an Old World style. There were no obvious bodyguards present - which was rather scary in its own right. Erik Lehnsherr is a powerful man with a lot of enemies. And yet he doesn't bother with bodyguards.

Stacey was still wearing the marks from our fight. Her nose was taped and her eyes were still blackened. And she had the common sense to be scared.

But Stacey needed a job. And I'd made it clear to her that I wasn't going to let her run wild. Not if Wanda was going to stay with her.

"Yep," I said to Erik. "Of course, that also means I want you to hire the woman who took care of your daughter when she needed help. And who plans to continue taking care of her."

A long moment passed. Unspoken was the fact that Wanda utterly refused to have anything to do with her father or brother. The expression on Erik's face didn't change. He had the dead-eyed look of someone who was about to slit some throats.

Then Erik looked at Stacey. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. Whether she knew it or not, that was a good move. Erik knows that bravery is not about the absence of fear. It's about overcoming fear. And he respects that when he sees it.

"I know I screwed up big time," Stacey said softly. "But I can bring something to the table. I can make a lot of money for you in exchange for a fair cut. Somebody else will be in charge of handling the cash."

"What are you offering?" Erik said flatly.

Stacey got to her feet and approached Erik's desk. She gave him a long look. Erik's return gaze would have done credit to a particularly intent man-eating shark.

Then Stacey reached over and touched Erik on the back of his hand. After a second, Stacey returned to her chair and waited silently.

Erik didn't appear to be even slightly affected by what Stacey had done, but then he glanced at me.

"I'll put her in the Hunt Club," Erik said, naming his highest-end bordello. "She won't be a prostitute - that would be asking for trouble. Instead, she will tend bar and generally help out around the place. And, of course, she will make things interesting for our customers. A number of rich and elderly men visit the Hunt Club. At that stage in life, a man can have problems performing. She can do something about that."

"Once the word gets out, that will be hell of a money maker," I said deliberately.

"And this woman will be under the direct supervision of the Hunt Club's manager," Logan added coldly.

I glanced at Stacey. "That would be dame named Rita. Her street name is Spiral. You've probably heard of her."

Stacey's eyes went wide.

"Just don't cross her and you'll be fine," I warned. "Piss her off and you'll wish you were dead."

I hoped Stacey believed what I was saying.

* * *

Marie and Wanda were waiting for us in my car. Wanda was still dressed all in red, but now a wide choker concealed the power-negating collar that was still around her neck. She and Wanda were watching the passers-by and making up stories about them. Wanda's eyes were wide with delight.

"He's a stern businessman," Marie said, making a gesture towards a well-dressed and formal-looking man who was crossing the street. "But he secretly likes to take bubble-baths with the same rubber duck he's had since he was a little boy."

Wanda giggled and pointed to a fit and rather tough-looking blonde who was at the same crosswalk. "She's a secret-agent for the government. She's the best person with a gun in her office and everyone calls her 'Princess Sureshot'."

In Wanda's lap was a folded up copy of the 'New York Times'. She'd spent the drive to Lehnsherr's office intently reading an article on the rise of Fascist movements in Europe. Wanda was like that, sliding back and forth between a little girl and a very serious woman. But Stacey swore that the collar was helping with Wanda's difficult spells. She was almost pathetically grateful when we decided to let Wanda keep it.

"Do you think Stacey will screw this up?" Marie asked me after we dropped them off.

I just shrugged. "It's up to her. Stacey's history says she will. But whenever I see her with Wanda..."

Marie glanced at Stacey and Wanda as they walked up the steps to their little house. They were holding hands and chattering like a pair of excited schoolgirls.

"Is it so damn wrong to want a happy ending?" Marie asked me, her eyes on Stacey and Wanda as they disappeared inside the door.

"No," I said wistfully.

* * *

We were back in Fred's apartment - not in an alleyway somewhere. I think the fact we'd already been to Fred's place had broken some kind of barrier with him. Now it was okay for us to see how a man lived who weighed over a quarter-ton.

"We had to watch enough of the film to make sure it was what we were looking for," I told him.

"I get that," Fred rumbled. We were sitting at the stack of railroad ties that was his kitchen table. This time the tea tasted of raspberries and lemon. It was fantastic and I'd made a point of getting the name of the brand from him.

"Then we burned the film," I added.

"Jean read Stacey and Wanda's minds and confirmed that everything's gone," Marie added.

Fred nodded. "So just what the heck happened?"

I began talking. "Stacey and Williams had an ongoing argument about how much he was paying her. She began filching some of his material and selling it on the side. Williams got suspicious and stopped doing business with her. In order to keep the money coming in, Stacey got into blackmail. She was actually pretty smart about it - she kept her demands reasonable and made it bearable for her victims. But then Remy found out that a bunch of his girls were being blackmailed, got pissed, and put out the word that it had to stop. Stacey then had an attack of extreme common sense and decided that the blackmail angle would eventually end with a bullet in her head. So she shut down her racket and destroyed everything - or so she thought."

Marie picked up the story. "By that time, Stacey had met Wanda and was taking care of her."

Fred frowned in confusion.

"Fred, you know as well as I do that the bad-guys aren't always bad, and the good-guys aren't always good," I said quietly.

Fred thought that over, then seemed to accept it.

Marie continued. "Anyway, Wanda is really pissed with her family. When she found out that Stacey had a film of Pietro dressed in a pony-boy outfit and servicing a bunch of stable-hands..."

Fred winced.

"...she saw it as an easy way to hurt at least one member of her family, while making some money on the deal," Marie finished quickly.

"Stacey and Wanda were hurting for cash by then," I interjected.

"So Wanda salvaged the movie from the fire and used it to blackmail Pietro," Marie finished.

For a long moment, Fred seemed lost in thought. Then he pulled his wallet out of a back pocket.

"Wadda I owe you?" he asked.

I named our normal fee for three days work - with a discount for the time lost while Marie and I were one half of an all-girl orgy. Fred emptied his wallet on the table. He was about two bucks short.

"Hold on," he said as he got up and grabbed a cookie jar from the kitchen counter. It rattled with the spare change he kept inside.

It took Fred three tries, but he eventually counted out the rest of what he owed us. I could tell it was on the tip of Marie's tongue to tell Fred to not worry about it, but I put my hand on hers and silently shook my head. After a moment's hesitation, she got it and kept silent.

Whatever else he might be, Fred Dukes was the kind of man who helped his friends and paid his debts.

We should respect that.

* * *

The flowers that Emma sent us were beautiful. Sooraya put them in a large vase and positioned it on a bookshelf so we could all glance up from our desks and see them.

At the moment, Sooraya was out on her lunch break while we kept an eye on Hassim. Lunch breaks were a new thing that she'd started doing just a few weeks ago. Before that, she usually had the Chinese place down on the corner deliver. She would eat at her desk.

Of course, what 'lunch break' actually meant was that she was spending a strenuously physical hour with Josh - her sort-of husband. She didn't know that we'd figured out that they were that kind of intimate again. Sooraya would be horribly embarrassed if she found out that we knew, so we played dumb.

"So what about us?" Marie asked suddenly. She always asks the hard questions. Maybe I'm braver when it comes to fighting and shooting and things like that, but Marie is braver with the things that really matter.

"Last I looked, we were fine," I answered cautiously.

"Where do Emma and Jean fit in?" Marie asked bluntly.

"I don't know," I told Marie.

Marie looked at me for a long moment before speaking again. "What happens if Emma calls and wants you to come over to her place tonight?"

"The answer is 'no'," I said. Which was the truth. Maybe it wasn't everything I wanted, but it was the truth.

Marie pursed her lips and nodded. "What if she wants both of us to come over?"

"Then I'll ask you what you want to do," I said. That was still the truth.

Marie smiled. "What if she and Jean want the four of us to take up where we left off?"

"Like I said: I'll ask you what you want to do."

Still the truth.

"So it's all up to me?" Marie asked in exasperation.

I stared at her seriously. "I won't do anything - anything at all - that'll risk screwing up the only thing that really matters to me. And that's you."

Suddenly, Marie was in my lap. She had my face cupped in her hands and I had firm grip on her waist. Our lips were locked together.

Off in his playpen, Hassim gurgled in either approval or amusement.

The phone rang. Marie broke away from me and smiled knowingly.

Then she picked up the phone and - without checking to see who it was - said, "Hello, Emma."


	9. The Case of the Lady in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domino is out of town, but Emma Frost needs a hand. She and Marie go looking for Emma's girlfriend -- Jean Grey. In the process, they encounter a college professor with the unusual name of Sinister.

THE CASE OF THE LADY IN WHITE

My name is Emma Frost and I am like nobody you have ever met - or ever will.

That's not a boast. I know the human race, its intricacies and flaws, better than almost anyone else on this earth. However, that kind of knowledge comes at a price. It makes me an outsider, a person looking in on a world from which I have become irretrievably separated.

You see, I can gaze into the minds of others. And that is a terrible thing. Sometimes, I wish I were as blind as everyone else.

* * *

"Where's Domino?" I asked. Perhaps my tone was preemptory. I'm often like that. The constant petty deception and foolishness of others makes me impatient.

I was standing in the doorway of Domino's office. Domino wasn't at her desk and a neat pile of paperwork was stacked on her blotter. Since Domino's desk is usually more chaotic, that was suggestive.

Domino's secretary - a young Afghani woman named Sooraya Qadir - wouldn't meet my eyes.

_In her mind, I "heard" a joyful flicker of raw and unsophisticated music, heavy on percussion instruments and simple horns. It was something from the mountains of Sooraya's homeland. It was a happy memory that is an anchor-point for Sooraya's psyche, and she instinctively clings to it whenever she's frightened. That and the memory of the first time she gazed into the face of her new-born son. But - as always - lurking in the background of her mind was the darkness of the Egyptian. Sooraya didn't really believe that he was gone. After all, how could Shaitan truly ever die?_

"Miss Domino is out of town, oh gracious lady," Sooraya replied softly, her eyes still properly cast downwards and her hands folded carefully on the desk before her.

I rather liked the title she was granting me. 'Gracious lady' has a certain flair. Sooraya fears me and becomes very polite and formal when I'm around. In other circumstances - in another place and time - she would have unhesitatingly knelt whenever I entered the room.

I like that as well.

Sooraya would make a good personal servant, especially if I could seduce her away from her dreary attachment to heterosexuality. However, Sooraya was untouchable. The damage that the Egyptian had inflicted on her was simply too great. She would need years to heal - and would probably never completely recover. Being exposed to my lifestyle and desires would definitely not help.

Meanwhile, Sooraya's baby boy was energetically crawling around the floor - an unprofessional scene that Domino really shouldn't allow in her office. He awkwardly sat up on his well-padded bottom and gazed up at me, his wide, deep, eyes seemingly fascinated.

_Like all children his age, Hassim had an elemental focus on the things that mattered to him. Things like food, warmth, sleep, and mother. That and an insatiable desire to explore and soak up information about the world around him. He was actually quite intelligent._

I did the psychic equivalent of ruffling Hassim's hair. He giggled at me.

_Hassim saw me as a tall figure dressed entirely in white. From his point of view, I was almost angelic._

_Oh, well, later in life he'd have the opportunity to know me better._

On the far side of the office was another desk. It was newer and bit smaller than Domino's. And sitting behind it, giving me her typically insouciant look, was a woman about whom I simply cannot make up my mind.

Marie is Domino's partner and lover. Like Domino and I - and Sooraya for that matter - she was a person with special powers. We were the sort of person that Dr. Xavier would call a "mutant". Marie had the ability to steal or share a person's memories, skills, and powers simply by touching them.

I met Marie's eyes - challenging her to respond. The streak of white in her hair that any other woman would have considered a catastrophe seemed to glow in the morning light pouring through a nearby window. On Marie, it was actually quite striking.

Marie let the moment drag on for a few seconds before answering.

"Dom's in Boston," Marie finally said, her eyes still locked with mine. "We have a client there."

Damn. I let out a long, frustrated, breath.

Then Marie looked at Sooraya. "Sooraya, why don't you take Hassim for a walk?"

Sooraya looked relieved as she quickly snatched up her baby boy, wrapped him in a colorful blanket, and then fled the room. Hassim made a disapproving noise as they left, but he didn't begin to cry. I've noticed that he doesn't cry very often.

"Emma, quit scaring the help," Marie told me quietly, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I gave Marie a withering look. She didn't react to it at all.

"All I did was ask a question," I pointed out.

Marie nodded. "And like a lot of what you do, that comes across as scary."

_Marie was steel clad in silk - the South creates quite a few women like that. They're adherents to an older and more traditional kind of womanhood, but it is most unwise to underestimate them. Much of what she is revolves around two things: her love for Domino and her fear of herself. Marie used to have very little control over her ability to drain the life and thoughts from others. Long ago, when she was just a girl, Marie killed a man by accident. That memory haunts her and is never far from her thoughts. She tries to bury it when she's around me._

"What do you want, Emma?" Marie asked.

I looked at Marie thoughtfully. "I need help."

Marie inquiringly cocked her head at me, but didn't say anything.

"There's somebody in town who might be a threat to Jean," I added. "I need someone to bodyguard her while I deal with the problem."

It's not fair to say that Marie dislikes me. She's just extremely suspicious of me. On the other hand, her relationship with Jean was delicately poised between friendship and love. There was very little that Marie wouldn't do for Jean.

Marie reached for her purse. Opening it, she pulled out a hefty revolver - something you might expect to see in the gun-belt of a movie cowboy. She opened the cylinder, checked the load, closed the cylinder, and put it back in her purse. Then she scribbled a quick note and propped it up in the center of her desk.

"Let's go," Marie said, getting to her feet. Unlike Dom, she dresses like a woman. As is usually the case, she was wearing a dress that could best be described as inexpensive, yet tasteful and attractive. Her high heels were from Sears. Her simple jewelry was paste and glass, but she has a talent for making something like that look elegant and expensive.

I pay more for a manicure than the totality of what Marie usually wears. A session with my beautician probably cost more than her entire closet.

It irritates me that she can make so little look so good, with so little effort.

* * *

"Want to give me the details?" Marie asked. We were in the back of my limousine, on the way back to my apartment. Her purse was in her lap. I noticed that its clasp was undone. She was making sure she could get to her firearm as quickly as possible.

I took a moment to try and collect my thoughts.

"There is a doctor," I began slowly. "He is interested in our kind. I have reason to believe that his practices go well beyond the accepted boundaries of medical ethics. In fact, he is quite dangerous. He is currently pursuing a course of inquiry that might eventually lead him to Jean. I can stop that, but first I need to be sure that Jean is safe."

"The best bet might be for her to leave town until you sort things out," Marie pointed out.

I nodded in agreement, "Yes. I'm thinking you and Jean might enjoy a trip together. Perhaps a week in New York? You can see the sights, do some shopping, and enjoy the restaurants and nightlife. I'll foot the bill, of course."

Marie hesitated. "I'll need to stop off at my apartment and pack..."

"I'd rather you leave as soon as possible," I interrupted. "Feel free to purchase whatever you need in New York and charge it as an expense."

_There was a flicker of resentment from Marie. Like many others, she thinks I have a tendency to buy my way out of problems. They're right, of course, but I really don't care. What is money for, other than to make life easier?_

"Okay," Marie said shortly. My offer made too much sense. Both she and Domino are very practical when it comes to the interests of their clients. Their old-fashioned sense of duty can sometimes make them difficult to deal with, but it can also make them rather easy to manipulate.

Then Marie suddenly frowned. "Does Jean know about this yet?"

I shook my head. "No."

Then I paused before continuing, "Actually, Domino's absence might help. Jean is likely to find a trip alone with you a more attractive prospect."

Marie didn't respond at first.

_The... event... with Stacey was on both of our minds. Dom, Jean, and Marie fell under Stacey's chemical trigger of lust and desire. They crashed into my apartment, laughing and disheveled and very focused on me. Dom - her eyes hot and wild, and with a predator's hungry grin on her face - picked me up, threw me onto the couch, and locked her lips against mine. I yielded instantly to her. I'd wanted that for so long._

_Meanwhile, Jean busied herself stripping me naked._

_It was Marie who actually spoke to me._

_"You've always wanted this, sugar. Now you've got it," she whispered in my ear. Throughout the rest of the night, Marie was the one who didn't hesitate to hurt me._

"Are you okay with me and Jean being out-of-town together?" Marie asked carefully. It was no secret how close Jean and Marie had become. That evening in my apartment, they spent a great deal of time graphically proving just how interested they were in each other.

"I'm not given to common jealousy," I snapped. "Keep Jean safe. Other than that, for all I care you can spend the entire week in bed."

It was only after the words came out of my mouth that I realized they really weren't true.

I cared about Jean. I cared deeply. And just how had that happened? I took up with Jean Grey for practical and important reasons. And Jean - younger and far less experienced than myself - needed someone who understood the problems of being a psychic and could help her deal with them.

To let Jean develop her powers on her own would have catastrophic consequences. Catastrophic beyond measure.

So our time together was never about love. However, when two psychics live together, they inevitably become close in a way that is more intimate than anything that mere sex can provide. Paradoxically, I'd thought that Jean and I were too close to ever really be in love. I'd assumed that sex between us was more like a vastly improved form of masturbation. It was just a way for the two of us to let off tension in an environment in which we were intimately familiar with each other's desires.

But that wasn't entirely true. It was then and there that I realized that I actually loved Jean.

"Are you sure about that?" Marie asked.

Damn her, Marie must have seen something on my face.

Then I did what I do. I took control.

Smiling maliciously at Marie, I asked, "Dom tries so hard to be loyal to you, Marie. Tell me, can you do the same for her?"

Marie didn't reply, but I didn't need to be a world-class psychic to tell what she was thinking. If what we were doing hadn't been about Jean, she probably would have forced me to stop the car and then left me.

* * *

Jean wasn't at the apartment.

I tried to contact her psychically, but she didn't answer.

That was bad.

With my heart in my mouth, I began making phone-calls. Meanwhile, Marie checked with the doorman.

"Nobody knows where Jean is," I said once Marie returned. I could hear the nervousness in my voice.

Marie nodded. "The guy downstairs says Jean met a man and left with him. He introduced himself as Dr. Nathaniel Essex. A little after noon, Essex walked into the lobby and asked the doorman to call Jean and let her know he was here. She came down immediately and left with him voluntarily. He's about six foot tall, medium build, maybe fifty years old, black hair with some gray at the temples, talks with an upper-class New York accent, and was dressed formally."

I fought down a surge of panic. "Essex is the doctor I was telling you about."

Marie frowned. Then she walked over to the table with the telephone. A pad and pencil was next to the phone. Marie began rubbing the pencil against the pad.

"That actually works?" I asked dubiously.

"It's a gag in the movies because it's true," Marie said distractedly. Then she handed me the pad.

It read: "Dr. N. Essex from Harvard Medical. 12:15 in the lobby. Lunch."

"Could this be legitimate?" Marie asked me intently. "Just a college girl talking to a professor? After all, Jean's pretty serious about becoming a doctor."

I think she wanted that to be true.

"No," I said flatly. "Essex is dangerous."

* * *

The doorman was named Larry. He was a former boxer who worked the day shift at our building as the doorman. That was pretty much all I knew about him.

_Larry's mind was sluggish, the consequence of repeated concussions during his boxing career. He was sadly aware that he was not the man he once was. Otherwise, he was an honest and forthright soul._

It was no time to be gentle. I plundered Larry's mind and left him sitting behind his desk, dazed and confused. His eyes were unfocused and his mouth hanging open. Drool began accumulating on his chin.

That left me with a very good mental image of what Dr. Essex looked like. That was far better than any description. I also now knew Larry's sexual fantasies that involved Jean and I. They were unimaginative, but impressively athletic.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Marie demanded in a worried tone as she stared at Larry.

"Yes," I said distractedly. Actually, there was some possibility of a phobia or some other such minor disorder, but I wasn't interested in explaining that to Marie. And besides, I'd left a detailed memory involving Jean and I and a bottle of champagne in the back of my limousine. He would think it was just a fantasy, but it would provide Larry with entertainment for years to come. It struck me as reasonable recompense for what I had done.

Marie stopped me forcibly at the lobby door. In fact, she yanked me away from the door so hard that I almost fell.

"What?" I asked angrily.

"From now on, I go through doors first," she said, before doing just that.

Oh.

I understood.

I was her client now.

* * *

Out on the sidewalk, I buttoned up my coat. It was fall, and temperatures were varying wildly. That morning, it had been warm, but a front was rolling in and it was becoming steadily windier and cooler.

"Okay, this is maybe a long shot," Marie said to me, "but if Jean were to meet somebody from out of town and she wanted to impress them, where would she suggest they go to lunch?"

"The Green Goblin," I answered immediately. "It's just down the block, at the corner of 10th and Parker Place. Jean loves the food."

Marie nodded and hooked her left arm in mine.

"Just pretend we're a pair of snooty, rich, dames out on a date," Marie said as she scanned the crowd on the sidewalk.

"I am a snooty, rich, dame," I replied acidly as we began strolling down the street.

"Then it won't be hard for you," Marie replied with a shrug. I noticed that she was making a show of examining the shop windows as we passed. Then I realized that she was actually using them to examine the people around us without appearing to do so.

That was a clever trick. Of course, I simply use my psychic talents for something like that.

For a moment, I gazed at our reflection in the nearest shop window. Marie was a distorted form clad in green, with splashes of black and gold. I was a blur of white.

* * *

When we got to the restaurant, Marie became definitely tiresome.

"Look, don't wander through anyone's mind," she said just before we entered. "I'll ask questions. Your job is to check and see if they're lying."

"Are you giving me orders?" I asked tightly.

"Damn right," Marie shot back without hesitation. "Dom, Jean, and I have come up with a system. It works. And it doesn't leave behind a trail of people so loopy they can't even tie their shoes. Aside from the moral question, that's like sending up a flare that someone with powers is in the area and up to something. So we don't cut loose unless we have to. I'll let you know when it's necessary."

I hated to admit it, but that made sense.

"Hello!" Marie said brightly to the Maitre 'de. "We're supposed to meet a Dr. Essex and a Miss Grey."

The Maitre 'de frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but they've already left. You missed them by about a half-hour."

_The Maitre 'de was a closeted homosexual. His French accent was part of an assumed persona - the cruelty of what he had endured as a boy and young man had driven him to abandon his past and rebuild his identity._

"Did they say where they were going?" Marie asked.

"No, mademoiselle. I'm sorry," the Maitre 'de replied regretfully.

Marie looked at me and nodded.

I stalked past her and the Maitre 'de and into the dining room. The Maitre 'de followed me, whining protests. When he finally recognized me, he went pale, fell silent, and backed away.

"Be careful," I heard Marie say from somewhere behind me.

The hell with that. I glared around me at the room full of people.

Everyone in the dining room - guests and staff - froze in the middle of whatever they were doing as I began rummaging through their recent memories.

* * *

Jean is ridiculously beautiful. Which means she attracts attention.

_A couple at the table next to where Jean and Dr. Essex had sat were in the throes of a bitter, low-volume, argument when I touched their minds. The husband was cheating on his wife. She was cheating on him in an act of petty revenge. Things had come to a head between them when he was unable to keep his eyes off of Jean. It was all so ridiculous and trivial and silly and... and... human._

_However, the husband had overheard something useful._

"Jean and Essex are on their way to State University," I told Marie.

Marie nodded as she nervously looked around. Everyone in the dining room was sitting stiffly upright, staring at nothing.

I tiredly rubbed my temples. If you touch the minds of fifty or so people, you will inevitably see things you do not want to see.

_An elderly man was dining by himself near the main window. His wife of over fifty years had died just a few days ago. This had been their favorite restaurant and he was sitting at their favorite table. He was going to kill himself after he went home, and he was at peace with his decision._

_A sixteen year old girl was sitting at a back table with her step-mother. She was trying to work up the nerve to tell her step-mother that her step-brother was fumblingly trying to seduce her - and was becoming more and more aggressive as she rebuffed him. But the step-mother already knew, and didn't particularly care. She had a plan to twist the facts so the girl would be blamed for what was happening._

_A respectable-looking man in the corner had a taste for pre-teen boys. He'd desperately fought that urge for his entire life. So far he hadn't done anything wrong, but his control was steadily slipping, and there was a youngster in his neighborhood who was so pretty and friendly._

_A young man sitting at a table with his parents and siblings was ignoring a particularly banal conversation as his thoughts drifted once again to the men he'd killed during the Great War. The face of a German boy that he'd bayoneted at Chateau Thierry kept looking at him with pleading eyes. He felt so terribly alone. There was nobody who understood. Nobody to talk to..._

On the way out the door, my control slipped. With a sobbing gasp, I tripped and almost fell.

Marie caught me. Then, without a word, she wiped my tears away as we stumbled down the sidewalk.

* * *

I more-or-less had control of myself by the time we got to the University. Marie was silent during the drive. For my part, I said nothing and made a point of not even looking at her. I hate it when people see me when I'm vulnerable. And - dear God - why did it have to be Marie of all people?

It took some effort to banish that thought. This wasn't about me. It was about Jean.

"Park near that phone booth," I told Marie.

She did as I asked - for the sake of anonymity, we'd taken her car instead of my limousine. Then she put a hand my arm, signaling for me to wait until she got out of the car.

Marie opened my door for me, but what she had really done was scan our surroundings. I got out and walked over to the phone booth. I normally only use phones when I need to talk to people that I don't want to upset by demonstrating my powers. I particularly hate public phones. Anything used by the masses is intrinsically filthy.

Fortunately, I was wearing gloves. However, I did have one small problem - I don't usually carry pocket change. I glanced at Marie. She sighed, took a dime out of her purse, and handed it to me.

I quickly dialed a number. One of my agents answered.

"First precinct, Detective Tanner speaking," responded the voice on the other end.

Tanner was one of my creatures. He was a typically corrupt police officer, and a man riddled with a taste for peculiar vices. Taking him into my service had been pathetically easy.

Not bothering to identify myself - he damn well better know who I was - I said, "There's an elderly gentleman named Horace Whitt who lives at 901 Lindsey Street. He plans to kill himself. Arrest him on whatever charge seems convenient. Hold him until I have an opportunity to talk with him."

"Yes, ma'..." Tanner was in the middle of replying when I hung up on him.

Marie was staring at me.

"Just a detail from the restaurant," I explained to her. "I had to attend to it."

All Mr. Whitt needed was some time to adjust to the loss of his wife. And perhaps somebody to talk to. I could provide him with both.

I would deal with the others as soon as possible. The girl needed a fundamental change in her home-life. The ex-soldier would find companionship among those who understood. The pedophile would require more direct action on my part, but I'd make sure that he would never hurt a child.

Marie actually smiled at me. I ignored her.

* * *

Jean attends State University. She's pursuing an education, which is most un-ladylike. I heartily approved.

Over the years, I've been on campus many times. The Bohemian element of the student population is filled with beautiful boys and girls willing and eager to drink deeply from the cup of life's corruption. I met Janet Van Dyne - a woman very dear to me - at a just off-campus party. The event featured the usual alcohol, drugs, nudity, sex, radical politics, and a particularly inept attempt to summon Satan.

A smile crossed my lips as I remembered the things I spent the next month doing to Janet in her dormitory room. There were strict rules about male visitors in the woman's dormitory. There were no rules about female visitors - I could come and go at will. Thank goodness the virtue of our city's college women is so diligently guarded.

After the semester ended, Janet moved in with me. We were together for about a year. And then she met Hank Pym and it all fell apart.

That was enough nostalgia. I forced myself back to reality. I wasn't there to reminisce or mourn.

Looking around, I shook my head in frustration. The university has a rather large campus.

"I can do a psychic search..." I began thoughtfully.

Marie nodded in the direction of the student center. "Let's try that first."

I looked in the direction that Marie had indicated. There was a sign in one of the student center's windows. A visiting academic was giving a lecture on recent breakthroughs in biological and medical research.

The speaker was, of course, Dr. Nathaniel Essex. According to the sign, the lecture had already begun.

Marie was doing her best not to smile. The bitch.

* * *

We walked into the student center's auditorium and found a pair of seats at the back of the room.

Dr. Essex was giving his lecture. He was a dark and handsome man, with particularly arresting eyes. His tailored suit suggested wealth and breeding. His mannerism's were somewhat old-fashioned for his apparent age. His manner of speaking was powerful and engaging.

"Wow," Marie whispered after giving me a startled look. "He's an eyeful."

Marie had a point. By any definition, Essex was a powerfully attractive man.

*Do you see Jean?* I asked telepathically.

*No,* Marie answered, her eyes carefully sweeping the audience, *but the gang's all here.*

She was right.

Doctor Banner and Elizabeth Ross were sitting together near the front row, holding hands. Elizabeth was very pregnant - the baby should be arriving in just a few weeks. Otherwise, Elizabeth looked terrible. There were dark circles around her eyes and her face was haggard. She had a large scarf tied over her head and I suspected that was to hide the fact that she'd lost much of her hair.

Further back, Henry Pym and Janet were seated next to one another. Thankfully, there was no sign of that vile creature, Bolivar Trask. There was a flush to Janet's cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She was sitting very primly, with as little of her back and buttocks as possible in contact with her chair. I knew that look - she'd been freshly disciplined. I'd put that same look on her face quite a few times.

Tony Stark was near the middle of the room. He had two attractive women with him - one a blonde and the other a redhead. The blonde was obviously bored out of her mind. The redhead looked interested and was taking notes in a small note-pad. The redhead was Stark's secretary. I didn't know the blonde, but I'd seen her at several Hellfire Club events, usually wearing little more than lipstick, nail polish, and a professional smile.

I fought down a surge of anger and fear as I saw that Hank McCoy, an important member of Logan's mob, was also present. Well-dressed and wearing spectacles, you'd never guess he was one of the most dangerous gangsters in town. After the destruction of the Hellfire Club's Inner Circle, I became a captive of Logan's gang. I'll never forget McCoy's cold expression as he told Kitty Pryde to take me down to the docks and hold me there. Kitty spent the rest of the night and all of the next morning torturing me. Her style was petty and unformed, but fairly effective. However, her performance suffered from a lack of direction. Mostly, she was just hurting me because I wasn't as broken as she was. Idle resentment seldom inspires good results.

"It's okay," Marie whispered. To my surprise, I realized that I'd slipped my hand into hers when I saw McCoy.

I didn't remove my hand. Marie gave it a comforting squeeze.

After taking a deep breath, I focused on Essex and tried the gentlest of mind-probes.

To my surprise, I encountered resistance.

* * *

Without a word, I got up and left the auditorium. Marie, of course, followed me.

"What the hell?" she asked once we were out the door.

"Essex is a psychic," I explained. "I tried to read him - I was hoping to find where Jean is - but he has defenses. I didn't try to break through them."

That brought Marie up short.

"Do you think he spotted you?" she finally asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I hope not. But we need more power on our side."

Across the hall was a row of phone booths. They were of a kind that was already going out of style - made of fine wood and built into the wall. Each had a wooden door with a window that allowed anyone outside to see if the booth was occupied. Inside each booth was a bench seat and an ornate, wall-mounted, pay-phone.

There was some traffic in the hallway, but nobody was near the booths.

"Come with me," I said to Marie. Then I entered one of the booths. Marie also entered and I closed the door behind us. We now had some reasonable level of privacy.

Taking Marie's face in my hands, I pulled her closer to me. Then I kissed her.

* * *

Marie didn't resist. She didn't even seem surprised. And then an electric-like thrill seemed to whisper through my mind and body as Marie carefully shared in my powers. It wasn't painful and I wasn't particularly frightened. We had done that before.

Our kiss didn't stop when she was done. We had also done that before.

When our lips finally parted, we spent a long moment with our eyes closed and our foreheads touching. It was a strangely peaceful pause in our otherwise quite busy afternoon.

My dress was partially unzipped and Marie's hands were on my bare back, just underneath the unfastened strap of my bra. Her dress was up around her waist, and I'd slipped my hands inside her panties and was cupping the cheeks of her buttocks.

*Apparently we have to be careful when we do this sort of thing,* I mind-whispered to her. *We tend to get a bit out of control.*

Marie just shook her head - and then nipped me on the cheek with her teeth

*Slut,* Marie telepathed back to me as she refastened by brassiere.

*Trollop,* I shot back as I pulled the hem of her dress back down into a less revealing position.

*Whore,* she replied as she zipped up my dress.

*Slattern,* I added as I smoothed down the back of her dress and finally took my hands off her backside.

Then we opened our eyes and looked at each other. I could sense the humor dancing in her psyche. We'll never be friends, but I suppose we're not enemies. Not anymore.

* * *

*Can you tell if Jean is in the area?* Marie asked after we left the phone booth. We were speaking mind-to-mind. There was a contemplative look on Marie's face, and I could tell that she was carefully testing the powers she'd borrowed from me.

*No,* I responded, *but Jean is very good at controlling her psychic aura.*

Marie hesitated for a moment before continuing. *Should we scan for her?*

"Scanning", as Marie called it, is a much more active and intensive procedure than simply sensing nearby mental signatures. It is also very "loud" in psychic terms. If Marie or I were to actively search for Jean, it would instantly alert any psychics in the area that we were present. I've noticed that whenever Marie shares my powers, she defers to my expertise with them. That's wise on her part, but it has always surprised me. Marie is her own woman on most things, and she has always been less than inclined to put up with me.

*Not yet,* I replied. *Let's be careful until we get a better feel for what Essex is doing.*

Marie considered that - and then nodded. *So what's the plan?*

People were beginning to stream out of the auditorium. Dr. Essex had apparently finished his lecture.

*We'll follow Essex and see if he leads us to Jean,* I told Marie.

Marie nodded again. Then she took my arm and steered me down the hall and away from the crowd.

*No point in being obvious,* Marie suggested to me. That made sense since we might be doing something less than legal in the very near future. I also caught an undercurrent of wary concern from Marie. She didn't like the idea of being surrounded by a crowd. In such a situation, there were too many angles of potential attack and she couldn't watch them all. That made keeping me safe an increasingly problematical issue. I was becoming more-and-more impressed with Marie's skills as a bodyguard.

We put the crowd between us and the entrance to the auditorium. Almost as soon as we did that, Tony Stark and his two feminine companions appeared in the crowded hallway. The blonde - obviously relieved to be done with the lecture - was chatting animatedly with Tony. The tall redhead was still writing in her notebook.

_Stark's mind was a whirl of intricate technical concepts, moving too fast to be really comprehensible. Apparently something in Essex' lecture had caught his interest. His psyche was a confused patchwork of narcissism, genius, and a genuine concern for others - all wrapped up in his desire to keep the rest of humanity at an emotional distance. The only thing that Tony Stark couldn't figure out was other people._

_The redhead - she was Stark's secretary - was concerned about the next item on Stark's agenda, which was a meeting with several of Stark's senior managers. Efficiency and loyalty were her driving character traits. She was using them both to conceal how she really felt about Stark._

_The blonde was trying to come up with a plan that would give herself and Stark sufficient privacy so she could fellate him. She considered the afternoon blowjob to be a vital element of keeping a man's interest. Her motives were coldly mercenary, of course, but she had a daughter that she loved so deeply that it cut through everything else with the sharpness of a razor._

Marie shook her head at me.

*She's a common gold-digger,* I told Marie with a disdainful shrug. *Men like Stark attract them like flies to honey.*

A quick smile quirked across Marie's lips. *Don't be so judgmental, Emma. Everyone has to pay the bills.*

*Than she's in luck," I countered. *Whatever his other faults may be, Tony is a generous man.*

Marie's smile became a grin. *Tony's secretary - Miss Potts - is more than a little jealous. She wouldn't mind helping Tony with his more personal needs, but she can't bear the idea of him thinking she's just another girl after his money. And she's scared of his womanizing reputation. She doesn't want to be the latest notch on his bedpost.*

*Tony actually thinks a great deal of Miss Potts,* I responded idly. "People are amazingly blind about each other."

*I can't help but feel sorry for her,* Marie added. *I know what it's like to be a secretary and have the hots for an oblivious boss.*

I smiled. *How long did you work for Dom before your relationship became more personal?*

*About a year,* Marie said thoughtfully. *It took a while to convince Dom that I was serious about wanting to get into her pants. For such an unconventional lady, she had a hard time making the adjustment.*

_The edge of one of Marie's memories crept arose our psychic link. It was about her and Dom's first night together. They were in Marie's old apartment - the one next to a neon-sign that blinked on-and-off throughout the night, bathing her apartment in an alternating sequence of garish red light and darkness. The light illuminated their bare bodies as they..._

I forced the memory away. It was too personal.

Then I touched several stray minds in the crowd. Rather than risk searching for Essex directly - something he would almost certainly spot with his own psychic abilities - I used what the bystanders were seeing to get a feel for what he was doing at the moment.

Marie sensed what I was doing and raised an appreciative eyebrow. She'd apparently just learned a new trick.

As it turned out, Essex was still in the front of the auditorium, talking with several members of the audience. Bruce Banner and Elizabeth Ross were among them.

We "watched" as Essex courteously disengaged himself from his well-wishers - all except Banner and Ross - and began walking towards the auditorium's doorway. Marie and I drifted further into the background, so we wouldn't be immediately visible. I also put up a psychic barrier that would hide any stray psychic emissions that might emanate from Marie or myself.

Then Marie suddenly took me by the shoulders and carefully pulled me behind a trophy-filled display case. She also added her mental strength to mine, reinforcing our psychic defenses.

I was so busy concentrating that I didn't immediately notice Jean walk through the front door of the student center. She walked over to Essex, Banner, and Ross and began chatting. She looked poised and serious - and not at all in trouble. Essex greeted Jean politely, but Banner and Ross seemed particularly happy to see her.

*Well, the 'follow Essex until we find Jean' plan has worked,* Marie commented in obvious amusement, *but what the hell is going on?*

*I don't know,* I answered tensely.

*Maybe we should be more direct?* Marie suggested slowly. *That would be as simple as walking over there and saying 'hi'.*

After a moment's thought, I shook my head. *No. We'll follow until we can get Jean alone.*

*Okay,* Marie responded doubtfully, *but tailing them could get tricky. We both stick out in a crowd.*

I closed my eyes and concentrated for a moment. Then I wrapped a psychic illusion around Marie and I. To the casual observer, we now looked like an ordinary pair of college girls.

Marie sensed what I was doing. She let out a low whistle of appreciation.

*How long have you been able to do this?* she asked.

*I developed the technique long ago,* I replied.

Marie shook her head. *If you ever decide to get out of the idle-rich business, let me know. Dom and I will find you a place in our office.*

Then Marie put an image into my mind.

_We were in Domino's office. Marie and Dom were at their respective desks. Sooraya was with them - she had a new desk and had obviously been promoted to a full partner. I had Sooraya's old desk and was primly dressed as a common secretary as I dutifully typed and filed._

_Sooraya imperiously held out a coffee cup and I scurried to fill it for her._

That actually made me smile. Very few people are so bold with me. I can always trust Marie to be the one who dares.

Then I became serious again. *We have to find a way to get a moment alone with Jean. Without alerting Essex.*

Marie nodded in agreement. *Wait here,* she said.

Then she walked over to Hank McCoy.

* * *

Marie said something to McCoy. McCoy was surprised at first, but then he calmly nodded at Marie and they exchanged a few more words.

I had to admit that was a very quick and sure reaction on McCoy's part. Logan has a moderately talented psychic named Betsy Braddock in his gang, so I suppose McCoy had been a part of clandestine psychic actions before. His instant willingness to help Marie didn't surprise me. Most members of Logan's gang seem to hold her in high regard.

Marie drifted away from McCoy and approached the small crowd of Essex, Banner, Ross, and Jean. Then she paused. For all the world, she looked like a slightly star-struck college girl who couldn't quite bring herself to actually introduce herself to the university's honored guest.

McCoy vanished back into the auditorium.

I waited to see what would happen.

"You son of a bitch!" I heard McCoy yell. "Stay away from my girl!" Then there was a crash.

Everyone in the hall froze and looked back towards the auditorium. McCoy exited, dragging a local college-boy by the shirt collar. The boy was wide-eyed and protesting that he didn't have a clue what McCoy was talking about. McCoy snarled a non-verbal response and tossed the boy towards Essex and the others. They automatically stepped away to avoid the impact. Then McCoy charged after the boy, yelling imprecations. His arms were wind-milling wildly, but somehow not connecting with the boy - which was actually rather decent of him.

Everybody with common sense scattered further away from the fray. The stupid and the bloodthirsty pushed forward to get a better view of the fight. The hallway near the auditorium entrance was a pandemonium of crowded bodies, many of them moving at cross-purposes.

I caught a flash of red-hair on the edge of the sudden crowd. Then Marie and Jean were walking towards me. Marie had Jean by the arm.

Jean gave me a furious look.

* * *

There was an empty meeting room at the end of the hallway. Jean, Marie, and I entered closed the door behind us. Then I dropped the psychic disguise that I had around Marie and I. However, I kept up the psychic shield.

"What are you two doing?!" Jean hissed at me.

I held a hand up placatingly. "Jean, it's important that we talk."

"Why?!" Jean said.

"Essex may be a problem," Marie broke in quickly.

Jean subsided, her eyes flickering from Marie's face to mine. I supposed I should have been offended that Jean actually responded better to what Marie had said, but we didn't have the time for that sort of thing.

"Essex is dangerous," I added. "His researches are daring, but quite cruel. He's killed people, Jean. And he is particularly interested in our kind."

A worried expression crept over Jean's face.

"What's going on here, Jean?" Marie demanded. "What's with you and Essex? And what does it have to do with Bruce and Betty?"

Jean glanced at the door that led back into the hallway before responding.

"Dr. Essex says he can help them," Jean replied hesitantly.

* * *

Elizabeth Ross and Bruce Banner were both dying.

Almost a year ago, they were exposed to strange radiations as the result of an act of sabotage in Dr. Banner's laboratory. As a result, they both gained the ability to turn into monsters. However, the radiation exposure was also slowly killing them.

Banner was doing everything he could to save himself and Elizabeth - and the unborn child that Elizabeth was carrying, but so far he'd had no luck.

Actually, I could believe what Jean had said. If there was anyone on Earth who could help those two, it was Essex. He was mad and evil, but he was also very good at what he did. I just had my doubts about the cost of his services.

Sometimes death is the better option.

* * *

"Okay," Marie said disgustedly. "Everyone slow down. We have to sort this mess out before we do anything."

Then Marie looked at me. "Emma, you keep saying Essex is a really bad guy. But what do you actually know about him?"

"Essex was associated with the Hellfire club's Inner Circle," I answered. "I didn't know that until just a few days before Logan's gang dealt with the Inner Circle. Essex has a secret laboratory in Haiti. His experimental subjects go in there, but they never come out again. The old Black King - Sebastian Shaw - was supplying Essex with mutants and ordinary people alike as experimental subjects."

Both Jean and Marie glanced at each other. Then they both gave me a long look.

"Go on," Marie said evenly.

"I've spent the last few years trying to frustrate Essex' researches," I continued tiredly. "I continue shutting down his supply of victims, but he keeps finding new ones. I've reported him to the various authorities - Haitian, American, and British - numerous times, but he has a knack for subverting any investigation. Now that I know he's a psychic, I finally understand how he has been doing that. I should have guessed earlier."

Marie looked at Jean. "And what do you know about Essex?"

Jean gave Marie and I a helpless look. "He's a world-renowned doctor and scientist. His papers have been published in major journals and are considered to be important. He's a visiting professor at the Harvard School of Medicine and he's associated with at least a dozen prestigious scientific organizations. He's been giving lectures all up and down the east coast for the last month. This is supposed to be just another stop on his tour."

"When you first met him, did you notice that he's a psychic?" Marie asked curiously.

"Of course I did!" Jean shot back heatedly. "But so what? Emma, Betsy Braddock, Dr. Xavier, and I are psychics as well - it doesn't mean we're bad people!"

I barely stopped myself from reminding Jean that many people do not consider me 'good people', Betsy was part of a criminal gang that didn't hesitate to kill people, Xavier's motives remain mysterious, and Jean herself was potentially the most dangerous being on Earth. Psychics know too much and that does things to them. It quite common for all of us to deviate from the norm. The only question was just how separated from the rest of humanity we became.

Marie held up a hand and Jean calmed down. "Have you noticed anything about him that seems hinky? Or heard anything?"

Jean gnawed on her lower lip for a moment - I just can't seem to break her of that habit.

Then she responded. "One of my professors, Dr. Svengard, once told me that there were a few things in Dr. Essex' papers that he couldn't have learned without a good supply of human specimens for dissection. It seemed to bother Dr. Svengard, but when I asked about it, he just laughed it off."

"Anything else?" Marie asked intently.

"Essex has been pretty interested in me. I mean... he's a guy, after all."

"If that's not unusual, why did you bring it up?" Marie asked instantly. Really, she kept surprising me with her perceptiveness.

Jean sighed. "There was a trace - just a trace - of a psychic touch when we first met. He withdrew in a hurry and I figured it was because he'd realized that I was also a psychic. But before that, he was definitely trying to peek into my mind."

"Or he might have been testing your defenses," I interrupted tartly. "If you weren't a psychic he might have made you into his thrall. You could be in a hotel room right now, waiting naked in his bed and praying with all your might that Essex would return soon and order you to spread your legs."

Jean gave me a level look. "You don't really believe that. I can tell."

I bit back an angry reply. "Believe me, Jean, what Essex has in mind for you is a lot worse than that."

"What are you talking about?" Jean shot back.

"Did you ever wonder why the Inner Circle had you kidnapped?" I replied heatedly. "What they were planning for you?"

Jean didn't reply, but her eyes narrowed. Marie shifted slightly - the beginning of an instinctively protective move towards Jean.

"They were going to give you to Essex," I finished quietly. "And then he was going to take you apart and see what made you tick. You're not like other psychics, Jean. The Inner Circle knew that. And Essex knows it."

There was a long silence. Jean was obviously surprised.

"Okay, so where do Betty and Bruce fit into this?" Marie eventually demanded.

Jean was still staring at me. It took her a moment to respond.

"I was... I was talking to Essex over lunch. I told him about Bruce and Betty - that they were sick, not what they can turn into. He was interested and said he'd like to talk with them. He said he'd done his own researches into exotic radiations and thought he might be able to help. So I introduced them. Banner and Essex hit it off immediately. We were going to Banner's laboratory to look over Bruce's research into their condition, when you interrupted."

Marie and I exchanged a look. "There are all sorts of bad ways to interpret that," Marie told me, "but it might also be true."

I shook my head. "Essex won't help Banner and Elizabeth out of the goodness of his heart."

Jean shrugged. "Does that really matter as long as he saves them?"

I considered that for a long moment. Then I let out a long sigh.

"We'll see how this plays out," I said. Jean and Marie nodded in agreement.

"Rejoin Essex and the others," I told Jean. "Marie and I will follow."

* * *

Out on the front steps of the student center, Jean rejoined Essex and her friends. They seemed glad to see her. Marie and I stayed discreetly in the background.

Elizabeth Ross was standing with her profile to us. Her belly was enormous.

*My God, that woman is about to burst,* I told Marie.

*I hope...* Marie began to respond, but then stopped.

*Don't hope too much for a happy ending,* I replied regretfully. I didn't think the odds favored either Banner or Ross, but the deck seemed particularly stacked against Elizabeth.

Hank McCoy was nowhere to be seen. The rattled young man who had been Hank's victim was walking unsteadily away, supported by an older man who I took to be a professor.

*Poor Hank,* Marie commented. *He loves going to lectures here on campus, but I guess that's impossible now. I'll have to find a way to make it up to him.*

*What's the hold you have over Logan and his people?* I asked as I kept an eye on Jean and Essex.

I could sense Marie's fond smile. *We're friends,* she said. *Nothing other than that.*

*Then why aren't you still with them?* I asked.

There was a pause before Marie answered. *I slept with the boss. And that was a mistake.*

_It was distant and wrapped in regrets, but she still cared for Logan. The memory of them together in bed on a bright and clear Sunday morning entered her mind. They'd spent the previous night making love, and then the morning talking. That was just after Marie had finally gained some level of control over her powers. Logan was the first man to take a chance with her new-found control._

*Why?* I continued curiously. *As near as I can tell, Logan would do anything for you.*

*Logan's not a one-woman kind of man. I guess I just didn't want to be another face in his crowd.*

_A flicker of feminine faces - like a jerky movie reel - went through Marie's mind. There was a startling number of them. And some of them I never would have guessed as being associated with Logan._

_However, I could tell that Marie wasn't telling me the entire truth. There was something else between her and Logan - and she was keeping it deeply buried._

I shuddered. *I will never understand what so many women see in that smelly hedgehog of a man.*

Marie's psychic smile grew broader. *Emma, maybe you shouldn't knock it until you've tried it.*

Separating themselves from the crowd, Jean, Essex, Banner, and Ross began walking in the direction of Banner's laboratory.

_I could see something in Banner and Ross that I'd never seen before. It was hope._

* * *

"Is this how investigations usually go?" I asked Marie. "All of this following and waiting?"

Jean and the others had vanished into the small brick building that was Banner's laboratory. Marie and I were sitting on a bench that gave us a view of the entrance. A cool autumnal wind was whipping streams of fallen leaves through the trees. That part of campus was heavily treed - almost forest-like. Banner's laboratory was barely visible from the nearest university building.

Marie flashed me a smile. "That's ninety-five percent of the job, Emma. The times when you've worked with me and Dom were the exciting five percent."

I winced. "Sometimes too exciting."

Marie nodded, but said nothing, but her face suddenly seemed tense and drawn.

_In the back of Marie's mind, there was something... an image of a tall and lean feminine figure, but did it actually have a burning skull for a head? The memory seemed to be partially concealed by the sort of hazy layering that the mind puts over terrible or violent experiences. Normally it takes years for that to happen, but I could tell that she had met that creature just a few months ago._

"Do you think we're being too careful?" I asked. Yes, I was trying to distract Marie from that fearful memory. "How would Domino handle this situation?"

_Marie focused on my question - and on Domino. The burning skull faded away._

"Dom's always told me that sometimes an investigation needs a kick in the pants, just to see if that knocks something loose," Marie replied. "So if she figures it's necessary, she'll ditch the sneaking around and get more direct. The trick is knowing when to keep to the background, and when to force some sort of confrontation. But when it comes to psychics, Dom's pretty careful."

Then she paused before going on. There was a half-smile on her face. "I reckon you taught her that last part, Emma."

I was about to respond when Jean sent out a panicky, half-strangled, psychic shout.

*Marie! Emma! Help!*

Then she fell silent.

* * *

Marie and I simultaneously jumped off the bench and began sprinting across the road towards Banner's laboratory. Fortunately, we're both good at running in heels.

It was all I could do to not call out to Jean. Marie was likewise restrained. We were both hoping to catch Essex by surprise.

By the time we got across the road, Marie already had her revolver in her hand. Meanwhile, I was still trying to fumble my weapon from my purse. So Marie was a few feet ahead of me.

Putting a hand up to forestall me from lunging through the front door. Marie put herself adjacent to a window, using the wall for cover, and then took a quick peek inside. I joined her on the opposite side of the window.

The lab was cluttered, yet meticulously organized. Jean, Elizabeth, and Banner were laying on the floor, obviously unconscious. There was no sign of what had happened to them.

Essex was standing among the still bodies, calmly talking into the lab's telephone.

_This close, I should have been able to get a sense of who Essex was and what he was thinking. Instead, he was just a blankness. That felt very strange. Even quite powerful psychics, like Jean, had a psychic aura. But Essex was hollow and empty. He had a way of shielding himself than was different from standard techniques. I didn't like that - if he could do that, what else could he do?_

Marie gave me an urgent look and then went for the front door. I could hear the hammer of her revolver click back decisively.

Stepping back from the window, I leveled my weapon at Essex. Shooting through a window can present problems, it's surprising how much ordinary window glass can cause a bullet to deviate. However, at the moment it was the best way to cover Marie.

I considered the pros-and-cons of simply killing Essex right then and there. But I didn't care to run the risk of a stray shot hitting somebody else, and I didn't want to drag either Jean or Marie into a murder investigation. I cared too much for Jean, and I wasn't paying Marie enough money for that sort of thing.

* * *

Marie threw opened the laboratory door and aimed her weapon.

"Freeze, Essex," she said coldly. "Keep your hands were I can see them."

For a long and frozen moment, Essex stared at Marie. Then he slowly and carefully put down the phone.

"Have we met?" he asked mildly. His voice was calm, but his eyes were shrewd and calculating. He didn't think he had lost control of the situation.

"Can't say we have," Marie responded evenly. She was still standing outside the door. "Why don't you tell me what you did to these people?"

Essex hesitated. He was sending a psychic suggestion to Marie. He wanted her to step inside the lab and take a deep breath to calm herself...

*He gassed them,* I sent to Marie. *Don't go inside.*

Essex detected that. He glanced through the window and saw me. His eyes widened slightly, but then he quickly recovered.

*Miss Frost,* he sent with a courtly nod of his head. *You've been something of a thorn in my side. I wondered if I might encounter you during my stay here. However, I didn't realize that we had so much in common.*

*Life is just full of surprises,* I sent back to him.

"Start dragging everyone out of there," Marie ordered Essex.

Essex considered that for a long moment. Then he nodded, picked up Jean, and began carrying her to the door.

That was when Essex' henchmen showed up.

* * *

Marie and I were concentrating too hard on Essex and that was a big mistake. It should have occurred to us to wonder what Essex had in mind for Jean, Elizabeth, and Banner once he had incapacitated them. At the very least, he would want to take Jean with him - and perhaps also Elizabeth and Banner. Yet he didn't have a vehicle parked near Banner's laboratory. So how was he planning on getting away?

A four-door sedan soundlessly pulled up behind us. For a split-second, I wondered why we hadn't heard them approach, but then I became too busy to worry about that. The car was filled with thugs, and they began jumping out of the vehicle, handguns at the ready.

Marie erected the most powerful psychic screen she could manage. I did the same. After all, there was no point in worrying about the possibility of Essex detecting us. He knew we were onto him.

I made the mistake of trying to psychically attack the gunmen. If it had worked, I'd have taken them all down at once. However, Essex managed to block it. That kept me busy for a critical split-second

Then Marie shot Essex. Both Essex and Jean tumbled to the floor as Marie turned to face the gunmen. I could hear Essex gasp out a curse.

Marie used her free hand to thrust me away. "Run!" she yelled at me.

The gunmen opened fire on Marie. She was struck several times, the impact driving her into the doorway. She stumbled over the bodies of Essex and Jean, and fell to the floor inside the laboratory. I heard her gun skitter out of her hand and across the floor.

The gunmen had ignored me. I realized that because of the way I was turned about, they hadn't seen the gun in my hand. They were concentrating almost entirely on Marie and Essex.

Thumbing the selector switch on my Stark-Mauser to full automatic, I spun to face Essex' thugs, and then opened fire.

A hail of bullets swept over the gunmen.

* * *

Most people don't know it, but I'm actually a good shot. Yes, I'm a powerful psychic, but sometimes even someone like me needs a more direct way to deal with a threat. As a result, I've put a fair amount of time and effort into becoming a more than adequate marksman.

However, in that particular case, I must admit that I was lucky. Automatic fire is deadly, but tricky, and you can waste a great deal of ammunition with limited results. And my Stark-Mauser only had a ten-round magazine.

But as I said: I was both lucky and good. That's always a good combination. Just ask Domino.

A second later, my handgun was empty, emptied in a single, furious burst that I'd swept from left to right across the line of my foes. Two of the four gunmen were down - one missing a sizable part of his face and another trying to staunch a flow of blood from the right side of his chest. A third had been shot in the shoulder and was painfully staggering away, clutching at his wound. He'd dropped his weapon and it lay abandoned in the middle of the road.

The fourth man was crouched behind the sedan. He returned fire at me, but missed repeatedly. Apparently my burst of firepower had rattled him and was throwing off his aim.

_Even through the haze of psychic interference from Essex, I could sense the gunman's terror. He and his companions had thought they were in full control of the situation. Now one of them was dead and two more were so badly wounded that they were out of the fight. And he didn't know that I was out of ammunition._

I took a deep breath and held it. Then I lunged for the lab's doorway, hoping to get into cover, retrieve Marie's revolver, and then get out through a back exit. Then I'd double around the building and hopefully get the opportunity to back-shoot Essex and his minion.

Unfortunately, Essex wasn't incapacitated. He grabbed my ankle as I jumped over his body and pulled hard. I lost my balance and slammed face-first into the tile floor. That drove the air from me and I involuntarily took in a gasping breath.

There was no scent to whatever gas Essex was using, but I almost instantly became woozy. As Essex painfully climbed to his feet, everything began to fade away.

* * *

"Wake up," somebody said. I was sure I knew the voice, but I couldn't quite place it.

An sharp ammonia scent filled my nostrils - smelling salts. Everything was hazy and disconnected. I tried to say something, but nothing happened. The best I could do was blink my eyes awake.

I didn't know where I was, but I knew the man who was looming over me. It was Hank McCoy.

_McCoy's mind was a whirl of precisely interlinked thoughts - all processing simultaneously. Hank was a brilliant man. If he had just received a proper education, and found some other path in life other than crime, who knows what he might have accomplished?_

"What..." I slurred out. Then I finally managed to wave away the smelling salts that McCoy was holding under my nose. I had a terrific headache.

McCoy stepped back from the cot on which I was laying.

_McCoy knew that many people - women in particular - were threatened by his bulky, brutish, appearance, and he avoided too much contact with anyone he didn't know. The hurt and anger he should have felt because of that was actually well controlled. Now it was just a regret, with the more painful aspects long since covered by emotional scar-tissue._

"What happened?" I finally managed to ask as I painfully sat up.

McCoy shrugged. "Why don't you tell me? Marie sent a mental call for help and I showed up just as Essex' people were trying to load you, Marie, Jean Grey, and the Banner's into a car. There was a dead man laying on the side of the road with part of his head shot off, blood all over the place, and the whole area smelled like a firefight. I contributed a few long-distance shots to the general mayhem and Essex and his surviving men decided to cut their losses. They drove off with Grey and the Banners."

My heart went into my mouth. Essex had Jean. Marie and I had to...

Wait...

That was when I realized that Marie was on a cot next to me. Somebody had taken off her blouse and roughly bandaged her wounds. She'd been shot at least twice and her cot was drenched with blood. Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing. She looked terribly pale.

Perched on a wooden chair, an older man in an ancient suit was sitting next to Marie. His blood-soaked hands were rummaging through a doctor's bag. In a china saucer on a nearby table, were the bullets he'd extracted from Marie.

_The crimes the doctor had committed began small, and were mostly the result of trying to save someone he loved, but they quickly accelerated. When that inevitably caused his life to fall apart, he toyed with addiction. Despite his very real skills, his license had long-since been revoked and the doctor could only find employment of a sorts doing street-medicine for a pack of criminals. Never far from his mind was the thought that he always had a way out - an expertly self-administered overdose of morphine would put a merciful end to his uncherished existence._

_However, he hadn't reached that point. At least, not yet._

"We have to get her to a hospital!" I hissed through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pounding in my head.

"She'll be okay," McCoy replied soothingly.

I think I blinked at that. Getting shot twice in the torso, and then having your wounds treated by a borderline self-destructive doctor, was not something that left you "okay".

McCoy saw my confusion. "Help's on the way," he added.

And then the Prince of the city - Logan himself - entered the room.

* * *

Logan is a dangerous and rough-looking man - short, dark-eyed, and broad, with a ferocious mien and oddly swept-back hair. He runs the biggest gang in this city, and his gang numbers many of the so-called "powered" as its most important members.

In other words, Logan runs a mutant criminal gang that possesses a tremendous range of powerful abilities and skills. When I referred to Logan as the Prince of the city, that was not a joke or an overstatement. Both the politicians and the police deferred to him, and that was a wise decision on their part. He was a power unto himself, and woe be unto any who crossed him. I once made the huge mistake of doing just that.

The only thing that saved me was Logan's willingness to listen to Domino. Logan didn't make the tyrant's usual mistake of refusing to heed the advice of others. Perhaps that was the scariest thing about him. He was much, much, smarter than people realized.

Logan looked at Marie and his face went cold. Then he gave me a brief look that suggested I better have a good explanation for what had happened.

_Logan was all winter and fury... an elemental force of a man who was much older than he appeared. In his past - never far from his memory - was a place of hot steel, cold ice, and lost humanity. It was where monsters in human form did things to their victims with scalpels and needles as they sought to create the perfect soldier._

_I caught a memory of Logan's escape. There was a boy and a girl with him. The boy was a strangely passive blond, his eyes puzzled and confused as he muttered the words "one" and "zero" over-and-over in an irregular pattern. The girl was a teenager with brown, curly, hair. Her face and arms were covered with the marks of a savage beating._

_Both of the children clung tightly to Logan's blood-stained hands as the three of them fled through snow-covered woods._

_I knew the girl. It was Kitty Pryde, and she was already as mad as a hatter. Logan could see it in her eyes. And he was wondering if the best he could do for the children was to grant them a quick and clean death..._

I jerked away from that memory. I didn't want to see anything more.

Two other people had followed Logan into the room. One was Raven Darkholme. People thought she was one of Logan's bodyguards, but she is actually his most formidable assassin. Darkholme was a complete psychic void, which meant she was wearing one of those psychic shield devices created by Logan's pet mad-scientist. However, I didn't need to be a psychic to tell that Darkholme was worried and frightened. I know the secret that she and Marie share, but I've long since decided it was none of my business.

The other person accompanying Logan was Betsy Braddock, and I could sense how she and McCoy were making a conscious effort to not acknowledge each other.

_The connection between Braddock and McCoy was unmistakable - they were lovers. However, their relationship was quite one-sided. To Braddock it was an affectionate dalliance, while McCoy was deeply in love. However, he didn't dare press the issue. McCoy was frightened that he might lose her if he wasn't careful._

*You're in a world of trouble, little rich girl,* Braddock warned me psychically, her eyes cold and unblinking as they met mine. *Be very good, mind your manners, and you just might get out of this in one piece.*

I ignored her. Braddock was obviously present in order to keep me under control. She gave me a cold stare, as I sensed psychic power humming around her. Yes, I could defeat her in a psychic conflict, but the other people in the room would not remain idle while I was engaged with Braddock. And - thanks to that damned power dampener - Darkholme was actually immune to my powers. If I didn't behave, they were quite capable of killing me.

I hate dealing with Logan's gang. I'm never in control. And I like control.

Ignoring the rest of us, Logan dropped to one knee next to Marie's cot.

"Hey, kid," he said softly. His eyes were dark and intent.

Marie's eyes fluttered open. Then the barest trace of a smile appeared on her face.

"Jimmy... I got myself hurt," she whispered.

"We'll fix it," Logan promised.

Logan cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly brushing her lips. It was a startlingly intimate moment and Braddock, Darkholme, and I found ourselves looking away.

_The wave of emotion - both loss and love - that emanated from them was just too much. They had unbearably strong feelings for each other, but were unable to come to grips with them._

McCoy opened the door and held it open. "Everyone out," he growled.

As we left the room, Marie lifted a hand, put it behind Logan's neck, and pulled his face down to hers.

_As their lips met, I felt Marie's power engage. She absorbed Logan's remarkable self-healing ability and her wounds began to regenerate._

* * *

The rest of us ended up in an empty bar. It was then that I realized that we were in the old hotel that was the headquarters of Logan's gang. I'd never been inside the place before, but I'd seen a memory of it in Domino's mind.

Logan's other assassin-bodyguard, a Japanese woman known as Yuriko, was waiting in the bar. She was dressed as a full geisha. She was also a psychic void. I began wondering just how many of those psychic-dampeners Logan had.

The doctor got behind the bar and pulled out a bottle. Then he counted out three glasses, set them up in a row, and poured out a measure of whiskey in each. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small bottle and used an eyedropper to put a few drops into one glass. He handed that glass to me, and the other to McCoy. He didn't offer a drink to Raven or Yuriko.

I didn't hesitate to drink mine. It was a rougher brand than what I normally drank, but I still enjoyed it. The little extra that the doctor had put in mine was laudanum - old fashioned, but effective. My headache almost immediately began to decrease in intensity.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" McCoy asked as he took a sip from his glass.

I considered my options for a moment, and then shrugged and told McCoy a quick version of the full story.

"I have to get out of here and find Jean," I eventually finished.

McCoy nodded coldly as he held his glass out for a refill. "You can leave whenever you want," he said.

"Then let's get going," Marie said.

I blinked in surprise and turned my head. Marie was standing in the door to the backroom that was the informal sickbay for Logan's gang. Her blouse and skirt were blood-stained - some of the blood still wet - but she has putting on her coat as she spoke. It would cover the worst of the blood.

"Are you sure?" I asked hesitantly. She looked fine, but I wasn't sure exactly how to judge that.

Marie smiled and held up her right hand, with the back turned towards me. Her smile didn't waver as three white claws suddenly appeared from between her knuckles.

"Oh... I'm just fine, Emma-dear," she responded. Her smile now had a distinct gleam to it. Her canine teeth were a bit elongated.

* * *

Raven, Yuriko, and the doctor entered the backroom to see to Logan. Meanwhile, McCoy made some phone-calls. Within fifteen minutes, his calls were returned. We were getting a rundown on Essex from the best intelligence network in town.

"He needs a lab - maybe some kind of medical facility - we'll find him there," Marie suggested calmly. She was standing behind the bar-stool on which I was sitting. Her hands were on my shoulders - one of them under the collar of my blouse, touching my bare skin as she stroked one of the shoulder-straps of my bra. Meanwhile, a sharp thumbnail was slowly meandering up and down the back of my neck, and the first two fingers of her other hand were intimately toying with one of my ears.

Actually, that felt wonderful.

_Marie was still mostly herself, but now she was also Logan - and she was having a problem controlling him. The powerful animal fury emanating from her was staggering. Much of it was the sheer joy of being alive after such a close call. Anger at Essex and concern for Jean and the others made up the rest._

_Marie had a neatly linear plan: Find Essex, kill him, free the prisoners, and then drag Jean and I off to someplace private so she could fuck us senseless._

I was just as aroused as Marie, and I wasn't particularly trying to control myself. However, I kept my hands to myself as I sat on my chair. My eyes were closed as I enjoyed the casually dominant way Marie was handling me.

Braddock was so embarrassed she couldn't even look at us. Well... that little faux-puritan murder-psychic could just kiss my ass. I was enjoying the attention and it was distracting me from worrying about Jean.

Hank ignored everything else as he continued using the phone to ask questions and get answers.

"The office building on the southwest corner of 45th and Bell," he finally reported. "Suite 7-C. A few days back, a guy matching Essex' description rented the office of a doctor who skipped town a month ago. It still has all of the doctor's equipment inside."

Still standing behind me, Marie growled in pleasure, tilted my head back, and then gave me a long, long kiss. As we kissed, and caring not a whit for the others around us, she calmly squeezed my breasts. My nipples reacted as she ran her thumbs around them.

When I opened my eyes, Marie was looking down at me.

Then I understood.

"This is it," I said evenly. "This is the real reason why you can't be with Logan. You have to be careful. Very careful or... this... happens to you."

Marie kissed me again. Then she bit me so hard that the skin on my lower lip broke. It took everything I had to not squeal in pain.

"Let's go," Marie purred down at me once she was finished.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied softly as I licked blood from my lips.

* * *

We were at the office building that Hank had told us about.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" gasped the doorman. He was staring at the blood on my face and on my white blouse and coat. Split lips take a long time to stop bleeding.

"She's fine," Marie said shortly. She was already looking for the elevator.

"I have a first-aid kit in the office," the doorman offered hesitantly.

I could sense the anger building up in Marie. Fear lanced through me. I didn't know what she might do to that poor Samaritan.

*Sit down. Stop worrying,* I quickly "told" him. The doorman blinked once, fell silent, and then turned around and went back to his chair.

Marie was smiling as she pulled me towards the elevator.

"Nice work," she said as she punched a button and the elevator door rumbled open. A gangly, teenaged, boy was the elevator attendant. He blinked in surprise when he saw us.

"Seventh floor," Marie told him after we entered. As the boy worked the control lever and the elevator jerked upwards, Marie gave me a long and appraising look.

"Take off your panties," Marie finally told me. The boy's eyes went wide as he tried to decide if he'd heard correctly.

They went even wider as I did as I was told. When Marie calmly handed him my (very expensive!) underwear, I thought he might have a heart-attack.

The elevator door staggered open. We were on the seventh floor.

Marie gave the operator a wolfish smile. "Stay here," she ordered. "Ignore any other calls and keep the door open. Ignore anything you hear. Do that and I'll have my girlfriend here give you a lesson in female anatomy that will make the peek you just got seem like a day in church. Understand?"

The boy gulped and nodded his head.

"One other thing," Marie continued casually. "Did the guy who rents 7-C come in this morning?"

The boy nodded. "He... he and one of his guys used the alleyway cargo elevator to bring up some equipment. I offered to help, but he gave me a buck and told me to mind my own business. I figured he was doing something shady, but..."

"Smart kid," Marie beamed as she brushed a finger along the side of the boy's face. He was attractive in a long-faced and slightly unkempt sort of way. She was becoming alarmingly interested in him.

"Which way is 7-C?" I asked quickly.

"Around the corner, to the right," the boy answered shakily. Marie was still touching him, he still had my panties one hand, and he seemed utterly mesmerized as he looked into Marie's eyes.

I gave Marie a tentative pull - half expecting to get the back of her hand in response.

Instead, Marie just smiled and turned away from the boy. She put a hand on my ass and gave me an encouraging squeeze.

* * *

The name of the former renter was still on the shaded-glass door of suite 7-C.

I had a psychic shield up and around Marie and myself. Hopefully, Essex was distracted. Otherwise, I couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't psychically spot us. The man was startlingly powerful.

Marie took her revolver out of her purse and cocked the hammer. Then she gently tried to open the door, but it was locked.

Marie frowned. I was about to whisper the suggestion that perhaps she could pick the lock, when instead she shot off the doorknob and kicked the door open.

That works, too.

* * *

My ears were ringing from the sound of a shot in such an enclosed space.

The thug who had survived the shoot-out with me was standing next to the door. The roar of the shot stunned him for a vital split-second. Then Marie slashed open his throat with the claws of her non-gun hand. Blood cascaded down the front of the thug's coat as he staggered away, vainly trying to hold his shredded throat together.

Essex was inside. He instantly lashed out at us psychically. I threw everything I had into defense and barely managed to parry him.

Marie leveled her gun at Essex, but just before he pulled the trigger, her arm jerked off to the side and her shot went wild. That was Essex' doing, but he had to drop the intensity of his psychic assault in order to so precisely target Marie's nervous system. I quickly slid past Marie and off to the side - if I could get a good look at Essex, my attack would be much more effective. By striking at him on two levels, psychic and physical, Marie and I should be able to defeat him.

In order to get a better vantage, I had to step over the thug who was bleeding to death on the floor. Fortunately, that part of the office was carpeted, so the floor wasn't too slippery. Through an open door, I could see Essex standing in the examination room. His right shoulder and upper-arm were bandaged - a reminder of our last encounter. Jean was with him. She was on the examination table, with her eyes peacefully closed, and an anesthetic mask over her lower face. Her clothes had been removed and a tray of dissection instruments was nearby. In the background, I could see Elizabeth Ross and Bruce Banner. They were slumped unconscious on the floor, obviously hand-cuffed together.

Roaring in rage, Marie dropped her gun, extended her claws, and lunged for Essex. I did everything I could to keep Essex busy as Marie closed with him.

Then a third figure appeared from out of the side of the examination room and blocked Marie's furious attack. It was a slender black woman dressed in common street clothes, but her fingertips were tipped with long claws. Her face was contorted into a snarl as she smashed into Marie and knocked her backwards. Blood seemed to flare between her and Marie as they savagely clawed at one another.

Keeping my attention on Essex, I snatched up Marie's revolver. However, I must have let my concentration waver, because a sledgehammer of psychic force suddenly slammed into me. The only reason that Essex didn't kill me then and there was because I hastily snap-fired a shot in his direction. He flinched away, but their was still a gap in my defenses. And Marie was tangled up with that woman...

Then someone came in through the door behind me - the one Marie had shot open. He stupidly decided not to simply kill me. Instead, he grabbed the wrist of my gun-hand and struck me on the back of the head with his own pistol. Lights seemed to explode behind my eyes, but I managed to lash my elbow into the face of the man who'd grabbed me. I felt something crunch as he let out a hiss of pain.

"Just shoot her!" Essex roared angrily. Marie took a moment to lean backwards and make a long, back-handed, slash at the thug who was attacking me. The tips of her claws raked across his face and it disappeared in a deluge of blood as three parallel cuts gaped wide.

Then Marie turned back to the woman - the girl actually - that she was fighting. Essentially the girl had lost her fight with Marie, but she had incredible endurance was still keeping Marie busy.

Meanwhile, my mental defenses were rapidly crumbling under Essex' assault. That blow to the head was making it almost impossible to concentrate.

We were losing. But I still had a card to play.

*Jean!* I called out desperately.

*Jean! Help!*

*JEAN! WAKE UP!*

And then there was a flare of red and yellow light...

* * *

The top three floors of the office building were burning merrily as fire-trucks flooded into the area. A large and eager crowd of rubber-neckers were watching the show, hoping to see someone dead or dying or in pain.

Really, human beings are such utter trash.

Marie, Jean, and I were sitting on a bus-stop bench, well down the street from the fire. Jean was wearing my coat, with her bare calves and feet sticking out from under its hem. Marie had her coat wrapped around both of us. The young woman who had been fighting Marie was sitting on the opposite side of Jean. She had a policeman's uniform jacket around her shoulders - it served to conceal her shredded, blood-stained, clothes. She was blank-faced as she stared out at nothing.

There was something about the girl's face... in just the right light you could see a tracery of fine scars winding along the contours of her flesh. Her hands and the exposed parts of her legs had the same pattern.

_She was more a victim than a villain; a Haitian girl that Essex had "rescued" from a life of poverty and made into his personal servant. He had rewarded her loyal service by using her as an experimental animal. The only reason she was alive was because of the enhancements he'd built into her. At the moment, I was keeping her under strict psychic control._

Betty Ross and Bruce Banner were on the sidewalk behind us, still unconscious and leaning up against the building foundation. A pair of fireman were attending to them.

"What happened?" Jean asked dazedly. We'd barely managed to get her, Banner and Ross, the Haitian girl - her name was Simone, and the elevator operator - his name was Otis, out of the building. With us sounding the warning, both verbally and psychically, the bystanding tenants and building workers were able to evacuate in time.

"It's fine," I said, taking Jean by the hand.

"What do you remember?" Marie asked. Marie was back to normal, but she looked more than a little distraught. Part of that was embarrassment, of course, but most of it was due to the shock of what she'd seen.

Jean frowned. "Nothing much. We went to Banner's lab with Dr. Essex. Then I got dizzy. Betty collapsed. Bruce looked sick. And Essex was just watching us like we were some kind of experiment. I called you for help, but then everything went black."

"Anything else?" I asked carefully, keeping my thoughts as strictly controlled as possible.

Jean shook her head. "Just bits and pieces. Maybe hallucinations? I think I woke up a little when I was being carried into the building. There was an alley and an elevator... And later on I think I heard your voice. You were in trouble and calling for help."

"Anything after that?" Marie asked softly.

Jean paused for a long moment, her eyes staring out at nothing.

Then she eventually spoke.

"There was a fire," she said slowly. "And... and... something. Something like a hawk calling. But it was loud. Very loud. And there was a fight and I helped you and Marie. Betty and Bruce were there, and I helped them, too. I didn't want them to be sick anymore."

Jean ground to a shivering, dazed, halt. I pulled her to me and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"I'm so tired," she whispered.

"Go back to sleep," I told her quietly.

"Please," Marie said shakily. "Please, sugar, just go back to sleep."

Jean hugged me and closed her eyes.

* * *

It was three days since Essex had died.

"This isn't possible," Bruce Banner told me.

"So you keep saying," I responded. It was about the fifth time Banner had said that. It was getting more than a little tiresome.

We were in Banner's laboratory - a place with no good memories for me. Banner had been staring into a powerful-looking microscope when I entered.

As always, Banner was scrawny and pale, but he still looked better than I'd ever seen.

One particular lab table was obviously seeing a great deal of use. The rest of the lab was neatly organized, but the table where Banner was seated was a storm of loose equipment, vials of blood and other liquids, oddly blinking lights, strange-smelling substances brewing in oddly-shaped glassware, papers, magazines, and books. All haphazardly scattered about.

"I keep saying it because it's true," Banner replied with an irritated shrug.

Apparently, Elizabeth and Banner's condition - caused long ago by their exposure to exotic radiations - had been cured. Banner liked to use the term "remission".

"Dr. Banner, there is an old saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth," I suggested calmly.

Banner rubbed his eyes and yawned enormously. "I know! I know, Miss Frost. And believe me, nobody is more grateful than me for what's happened. But I'm a scientist. And as a scientist, I have no idea how Dr. Essex did this."

I smiled placidly. "So you don't remember anything after he kidnapped you and Elizabeth?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I made the mistake of allowing Dr. Essex into my laboratory... and then Betty and I woke up in the hospital. The police said we were found near the scene of a fire that burned down an office building. Some firemen apparently rescued us."

I'd distributed enough cash to the various public servants involved to make sure that the story of Banner and Elizabeth's discovery would never be more clear than that. I was pleased to see that I was getting my money's worth.

Banner subsided as he stared morosely at his altar to science. It was apparently devoid of inspiration.

"By the way," he asked eventually. "How is Miss Grey? Betty called to see how she was doing and said they talked. She was apparently quite confused about what happened to her."

"Dr. Essex left her here in your lab," I lied with easy grace. "He apparently wasn't interested in her. She is quite happy to hear that you and Elizabeth are better."

Banner nodded thoughtfully as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. Something about that didn't make sense to him.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Banner?" I asked.

He frowned. "No. Not really. I just keep having this dream..."

Then he stopped.

"What kind of dream?" I asked carefully, trying to keep my words light and seemingly meaningless - just mere womanly chatter.

Then Banner grimaced. "Nothing that matters. That gas Essex used on us must have a mildly hallucinatory component."

"What kind of dream?" I repeated. This time I wasn't asking.

Banner's eyes seemed to go out of focus.

"I'm drifting," he said distractedly. "Everything around me is darkness, but I somehow know Betty is with me. And then, out of the darkness, a great bird of fire approaches. It's magnificent and frightening and I'm sure it will devour us both. But at the last moment, just as it gets near to us, it transforms into a woman. In fact, it transforms into Miss Grey. She's both naked and covered in flames, but she's not actually burning. She tells me not to be frightened - that she's there to help. She kisses me on the forehead. Then she kisses Betty."

Then Banner fell silent. He was still staring out at nothing.

"It was just a dream," I told him. "Go ahead and forget it."

"Yes," Banner said softly, his eyes still blank. "Forget it..."

Then he snapped awake.

"Oh," he said in mild embarrassment. "My apologies, Miss Frost. I must have dozed for a second. I've been at this for some time."

I graciously nodded my head. "I understand completely, Dr. Banner. I'll leave you to your work."

He smiled and shook his head. "Actually, I'm getting nowhere. I'll clean up and head home. Betty is going to kill me if I don't start celebrating our good luck - instead of just being puzzled by it."

I said my goodbyes and left.

I estimated it would take Banner an hour or two to clean up his lab. That would be more than enough time to pay a quick visit to Elizabeth and make sure she also didn't have any inconvenient memories.

* * *

I was done with Elizabeth and Banner, and had returned home.

By then, it was late afternoon. Jean was still recuperating, but she made a point of missing as few classes as possible. So she was at school and I had the apartment to myself.

Larry called and told me I had a visitor. I told him to send her up.

Simone answered the door, admitted Marie, and then took her coat and got her settled.

When I entered the den, Marie was seated in the leather easy chair, with a drink in her hand, as she and Simone chatted amiably in French. Until Simone and Marie met, I hadn't known that Marie could speak the language. However, I must say that both she and Simone have atrocious regional accents.

Simone was Essex' former serving girl. For two people who'd once made a serious effort to kill each other, she and Marie were getting along rather well.

After also serving me a drink. Simone quietly left the room, closing the door behind her so we would have some privacy. She was an excellently-mannered maid. Say what you will about Essex - 'burn in hell' comes immediately to mind - but he knew how to train servants.

"How's Simone doing?" Marie asked me. "She seems okay."

I nodded. "Essex kept a tight psychic hold on her. Jean and I have undone the mind control and helped her get through the worst of the memories. At the moment, she's just frightened and confused and wants some stability in her life. Having spent all her life as a servant, she's most comfortable staying with us. Once she's fully recovered, I'll give her the option of staying or leaving. Actually, I'm hoping she stays. Her cooking is unsophisticated, but otherwise superb."

Marie seemed relieved by what I'd said.

"What about Bruce and Elizabeth?" I asked, carefully keeping my face guileless.

Marie's face brightened. "They're fine! Bruce thinks Essex did something to them, and he's going out of his mind trying to figure out what it was. He keeps saying it's scientifically impossible for them both to have been cured so quickly and completely."

"He's right," I said with a careful shrug.

Marie nodded in agreement. Then there was an awkward pause as she tried to say something that was particularly important to her.

"I'm sorry," Marie finally said, her voice tense with nervousness.

"For what?" I responded with a raised eyebrow.

Marie winced. "Well... how about for repeatedly molesting you in public and then making you partially strip for the kid in the elevator? Then shooting my way into Essex' office without the slightest trace of a plan, and almost getting us killed? I was way out of line and I understand if you're mad at me."

That made me laugh. "Marie, I'm hardly a blushing maiden, and I know what happened to you and why! And no plan we could have made would have resulted in anything other than a vicious, dangerous, fight. But tell you what, the next time you absorb too much of Logan, pay me a visit. I'll provide the handcuffs and a suitable array of toys. We'll make a day of it - you really do have a remarkable talent for dominance. It's a shame you only let it out under such rare circumstances."

Marie gave me a long, steady, look. Then she said, "If I could only figure out how much of your princess-pervert routine is real and how much is just for show..."

I chuckled as I shook my head. "It's all real, Marie. And it's also all for show. Really, if I can't explain it, then what makes you think you can?"

Marie dropped the subject and went on to what was really bothering her. "How's Jean?"

I took a long sip from my drink as I tried to ignore the memory of Essex shrieking like a damned soul as he slowly disintegrated. There isn't even a word for what happened to him, but it had obviously been agonizing. And completely deserved.

Suddenly, I was very serious. "Marie, it's very important that Jean not know what happened."

Marie put down her glass of Scotch. "Okay. You keep saying that and I believe you. But I'm scared."

"You have good reason to be," I told her softly as I swirled the contents of my own drink.

"What's happening to Jean?" Marie asked.

"I don't have an answer for that," I responded. "I just know that the thing in her is powerful and dangerous. And that it has appeared before in human history. The results were almost always catastrophic."

"It saved our asses," Marie pointed out. "And what it did for Elizabeth and Bruce... that was incredible!"

I shook my head. "I can't swear it will always act in our service."

"Why?" Marie asked bluntly.

"Marie," I said softly, "the Phoenix is partially Jean and partially something else. What happens if Jean loses control to the other aspect of the Phoenix? You know what it's like to not be in full control of your actions."

Thankfully, Marie wasn't offended by my words. Instead, she just considered them carefully.

"What does she remember?" She eventually asked.

I sighed. "Apparently not much, and she's not inclined to investigate any closer. I think that's for the best."

"How do we help her?" Marie continued. You didn't have to be a psychic to sense the aura of determination around her. Marie is really a remarkable woman. And I'll lobotomize anyone who lets her know that I feel that way.

"We'll be her friends," I replied. "And we'll do the best we can for her."

Marie thought about that. Then she nodded.

* * *

In the aftermath, there were other things that had to be done.

The old man in the restaurant? The one who was considering suicide? Detective Tanner got to him just in time. The old man now regularly plays chess with Logan's fallen doctor. They talk about love, loss, and the mistakes they've made. The experience is doing them both a great deal of good. I was actually quite pleased with Detective Tanner's quick handling of the situation. While Jean was recovering, I gave him a particularly severe flogging. He was sobbingly grateful.

The girl who was being threatened by her step-brother is now living in a better home. Her father and step-mother recently divorced under circumstances that were financially quite disagreeable to the step-mother.

The man with a taste for young boys? Those urges are under control again.

The former soldier, haunted by his war that never ends? With a little help, he found a group of veterans who've had similar experiences. He now has others to talk to.

Otis the elevator boy? He kept his elevator waiting and then helped us rescue the others. After that, he ran through the building, doing his brave best to warn the tenants about the fire. Let's just say that I rewarded him very well for his exemplary service. After all, I couldn't ignore the promise Marie had made to him.

If any of that surprises you... well, there is little I can say to that.

I'm Emma Frost. I know everyone, but nobody really knows me.


	10. The Case of the Spider Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An actor hires "Domino Investigations". It seems that an up-and-coming actress named Mary Jane Watson might be in trouble.

THE CASE OF THE SPIDER GODDESS

It's not every day that a movie-star walks into the office.

It was lunchtime, and at the moment I was the only person in the office. Marie, my partner and girlfriend, was down at the corner deli, picking up a pair of sandwiches for us. Sooraya, our secretary and all around gal-friday, was "having lunch with her husband". That actually translated into "screwing like a pair of particularly horny bunnies". And that was great. Sooraya and Josh have a history that would make any reasonable human being want them to find happiness.

Our prospective client was a big guy, well over six foot tall and with a broad upper body. I estimated that he was in his late twenties or early thirties. He was wearing a conservative suit that didn't look too expensive, but had obviously been tailored for his big build. As he entered the office, I noticed that he had a very slight limp. It looked like an old injury to which he'd long-since adjusted. But as a result, his walk had a definite sway.

I knew who he was, but I've never been inclined to fawn over famous people.

"Hello," I said to him. "I'm Domino."

"My name is Wayne," he answered back in a deep, drawling, voice. "John Wayne."

* * *

If a prospective client is a man, I usually greet him with a handshake. Shaking hands with a woman is still considered odd in a lot of places, and how a guy reacts to that can give me a feel for his personality.

Wayne didn't hesitate to take my offered hand. He had a strong grip, but I had the impression he was being careful. I suppose he didn't want to hurt the "little lady".

Just for the record, I'm tall for a woman. However, I have to admit that Wayne still towered over me.

As we shook hands, Wayne's eyes wandered around the office. It seemed to me that he was more than just checking out the decor. He was looking for someone.

I made a gesture towards the coffeepot. "I might be a little stale, but if you'd care for a cup..."

"No, thanks," Wayne said as he glanced back at me. His voice tended to rumble.

I'd seen Wayne in a few movies. In my opinion, he wasn't really all that great of an actor, but he was big, ruggedly handsome, and an increasingly popular box-office draw. He starred in westerns and the occasional drama, specializing in the role of a stoic man-of-action. He started off with the California movie studios, but didn't get anywhere. Then the local studio convinced him to move east and give them a try. So far, that had worked out pretty well for both sides. Wayne was young by Hollywood standards, but he'd already made a decent career for himself. He'd starred in about a half-dozen movies and I had a sneaking suspicion that he'd make at least a few more before his career finally fizzled out.

"Why don't you sit down, Mr. Wayne?" I said.

Obligingly, Wayne took the leather upholstered chair that faced my desk. He still had a slightly unsettled air about him, as if something wasn't quite as he'd expected.

Then the office door opened up and Marie walked in. She was carrying a paper bag from the deli. My stomach complained - it would be a while before I finally got to eat.

Marie's face lit up. "Duke!" she exclaimed in delight.

A big grin came over Wayne's face. "Marie!"

Wayne stood up, and the two of them hugged in the middle of the room.

What the hell?

* * *

Wayne was back in the chair. Marie was sitting on the edge of my desk, a pen and legal pad in her hands as she took notes. She's pretty good with shorthand and has no problem keeping up with a two-person conversations.

"I have a friend who's in trouble," Wayne said seriously. "But she's not talking to anyone. I want you to find out what's going on."

"What kind of trouble?" I asked.

Wayne didn't quite roll his eyes, but he came close. "She's also in the movie business. The last few days, she's been missing or showing up late for shoots. That's messing with the schedule and the guys in the head office are getting mad. Also, the jackass directing her movie is starting to shoot off his mouth. He's telling anyone who'll listen that he'll never work with her again once he gets this movie in the can. That's bad, but what really bother's me is that I hear she's covered with bruises. She's got some half-assed story about falling off a horse, but the stunt guys on her movie are telling me that it looks more like she's been in a fight. Anyway, this morning the studio decided to delay shooting until she looks a little less like a barroom brawler."

"What's her name?" Marie asked.

"Mary Jane Watson," Wayne replied.

* * *

The local movie studio is called Williams Worldwide Productions, and it's owned by a guy named Simon Williams. Williams inherited a ton of money a few years ago and decided to use it to get into the movie business. The word is that he tried to set up an operation of his own in Hollywood, but the existing studios made that impossible. So he moved back to his hometown and tried again. That time it worked.

So Williams Worldwide had only been in business for a few years, but he's made a string of successful movies. Williams specialized in finding talent that Hollywood hadn't noticed, and making them into stars. MJ Watson and John Wayne were just two of the once small-time actors that Williams had made popular.

"MJ and I have worked together," Wayne continued. "A movie called 'The Comanche Kid' was our big break. We've been working on different projects since then, but we keep in touch."

Actually, Marie and I had seen 'The Comanche Kid'. It made a lot of money, and for a good reason. It was a pretty good movie.

"Mr. Wayne..." I began.

"Most folks call me Duke," Wayne interrupted.

I nodded. "Okay, Duke, but when a woman shows up with bruises and no good explanation... well, that usually means it's time to look at the man in her life."

"There's no man in her life," Wayne said with a shake of his head.

"Duke..." I began.

"She has a girlfriend," Wayne finished for me.

I paused for a moment to try to get a feel for how Wayne was reacting to what he'd just said. If I had to make a guess, while not necessarily a fan of the concept of same-sex couples, his concern for his friend was overriding everything else. In the final balance, I would have to say the outcome tilted in Duke's favor.

"Does her girlfriend have a mean streak?" Marie asked.

Wayne shook his head. "I've never met her. Her name's Gwen Stacy. You've probably heard of her."

* * *

Marie raised an eyebrow in surprise. Actually, we had heard of Gwen Stacy - in fact, I suppose most people in town knew of her. She was an up-and-coming night-club singer with a lot of fans. Over the last few years she's built a career here, and was beginning to perform in other cities up and down the coast.

We'd caught her show more than once. Stacy got her start in a nightclub named Remy's. Marie and I have been known to visit the place.

"Okay, Duke, what's the deal with you and Miss Watson?" Marie asked.

Wayne actually sighed. "When we were working together on 'The Comanche Kid' we went out a few times. It was just dinner and dancing, but I eventually noticed how she looked at pretty girls the same way I did. I filed that under 'none of my business' and gave up on any ideas about me and her. But MJ and I get along. She's gone out of her way to help me when I've needed a hand, and I've done the same for her. She's a friend, and I'm worried that she's got herself into something that she can't handle."

"Have you talked to her?" I asked.

"Yep. I phoned her last night... and she told me to get lost. From what I hear, that's what she's told everyone who's asked any questions. And I'm worried she may be running out of time."

"Why is time a problem?" Marie asked.

"Hollywood has a system," Wayne said. "You'd be amazed how crazy movie-people can be, so the studios had to came up with ways to hush-up scandals. They work with reporters - providing interviews and stories in exchange for keeping some things secret. Sometimes bribes are paid. Sometimes they make threats. Usually the threats are financial, but sometimes they're physical."

I stirred uneasily. I suddenly had a suspicion where Wayne was going.

"So Hollywood has a system to deal with possible bad publicity," I repeated slowly, "but does the local studio have one?"

"I don't think so," Wayne told me. "And if they do, it's not as big or as powerful as the one the west-coast studios have put together."

"If this problem with MJ attracts enough attention, and if some reporter gets interested and starts digging, then they could find out about MJ and Gwen," Marie added softly.

"And that'll be the end of MJ's career," Wayne finished bleakly. "The studio will drop her like a hot potato."

Then Wayne gave us a determined look. "I know Tony Stark, and he recommended you. Once I realized that Marie was one of the two private eyes he was talking about, I knew I could trust you. I'll pay you the same rate he does."

That made Marie laugh. "Oh, sugar, we overcharge Stark like crazy."

I winced at that bit of honesty.

Wayne just shrugged. "Look, just figure out what's going on, do what you can to help, and send me a bill. But keep my name out of it. MJ will throw a fit if she finds out I'm going behind her back like this."

We hashed out some details and Wayne - Duke - paid us a generous advance. Then he left.

* * *

"Okay, how the hell do you know him?" I asked Marie almost as soon as the door closed behind Wayne.

"I was a damsel in distress and he saved me," Marie told me. There was a wry smile on her face.

Since Marie can knock anyone for a loop with just a touch, that was a fairly odd thing for her to say.

"Just how much distress were you really in?" I asked dryly.

Marie shrugged. "I was working the Slaughter Gulch case when I ran into a drunk in a bar. He got a little aggressive when I told him I wasn't interested. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle, but Duke was sitting on the next barstool. He helped me out. And, let me tell you, when a guy like Duke Wayne takes a punch for you, you don't fret over the details. You just enjoy the experience."

I grunted irritably.

* * *

When Sooraya got back to the office, she had a flush to her cheeks and a stray lock of hair protruding out from her hastily-wrapped head scarf. She and Josh must have gone extra innings.

Hassim - Sooraya's baby boy - wasn't with her. Lately, Josh had been taking care of the baby at home. Having Hassim crawling around the office didn't really bother me, but Sooraya was worried that it looked "unprofessional".

I swear, that girl is more responsible than either of her bosses.

"Find out what you can about Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy," I told Marie and Sooraya. "Keep it low key. For right now, just get the basic biographical stuff and any obvious rumors. I'll check on Wayne. We'll compare notes at closing time."

Marie and Sooraya nodded their heads and went to work.

* * *

I've said it before: the part where you check on your client is something they don't talk about in detective stories, but a smart private dick should always do it. Even when your client is a friend of your girl.

Early that evening, Marie, Sooraya, and I got back together.

"Wayne seems to be on the level," I said - maybe a bit grudgingly. "The fact that he and Watson dated for a while is well known. That they're no longer together, but still friends, is also common knowledge. Wayne himself has a good reputation both in the movie industry and around town. About the only oddity that anyone mentioned is that he has a fairly obvious taste for women from south of the border. That doesn't exactly jive with Wayne being interested in a redhead like Mary Jane Watson, but she is a knockout, so maybe he just varied his type for her."

"The biographical stuff on Wayne is pretty straightforward. He was born in Iowa, and his parents saddled him with a name that he was probably happy to ditch when an agent eventually suggested 'John Wayne' to him. He actually went to college on a football scholarship, but that ended when he busted up his knee. After he left college, Wayne hooked up with Hollywood, mostly working bit-parts for chump-change. He was getting nowhere, but then Williams Worldwide offered him a contract and he jumped at the opportunity. The popular opinion about his career is that he's taken a little talent, combined it with a lot of charisma, and made it work for him. Some people admire that, but others are obviously jealous."

"He and Tony Stark apparently drink in some of the same watering holes. I figure that's how they know each other."

"So what did you two get?" I asked when I was done.

Marie went first: "Mary Jane Watson is from New York city and her parents currently live there. She has a single older sister who's married and lives in Boston. Her father is a professor, but he wanders from position to position, and the family has moved quite a few times. Watson wasn't a bad student, but she always leaned towards work that relied on her good looks. So throughout high-school she did after-school and summer-time modeling and acting. Her deep dark secret - well, the one that I found out about - is that she used to work every now and then as a burlesque dancer."

"Watson was doing a theater role as Juliet in 'Romeo and Juliet' when a talent scout spotted her. She left school in her senior year to come here and work for Williams Worldwide. Like Duke said, her first movie was 'The Comanche Kid'. It did pretty good and she's been working as an actress ever since."

"Her latest movie is called 'The Curse of the Spider Goddess' - it's some sort of horror story. The movie has had a lot of production problems and is over-budget and behind schedule. Actually, it was in trouble even before the recent problems with Miss Watson. The director is on thin ice with the studio and the word is that he's looking for a scapegoat. If Miss Watson has been screwing up, she's a likely candidate."

Marie finished. I looked at Sooraya. She consulted her notes for a moment before she began.

"Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy was born and raised in the Queens borough of New York city. Her father - George Stacy - is a police captain and has a very good reputation within the NYPD. Her mother is deceased, having died in childbirth. Miss Stacy is an only child."

"Growing up, Miss Stacy was an above-average student. As a youngster, she had several odd jobs, but nothing unusual. However, after her senior year in high school, she began working as a waitress at a local night-club. Eventually, she began performing as a singer on the nights when no professional talent available. She became popular. Eventually, she moved here and began working a series of singing jobs. Since then, her career has taken off."

"It's odd that she left New York to come here," Marie suggested. "You'd think New York would be a better place to start a singing career. Off hand, the only place that might be better is L.A."

"How well is it known that MJ and Gwen are an item?" I asked.

Sooraya shook her head. "Not at all."

Marie said, "I didn't hear a peep - not even in our circles. Those two are doing a great job of hiding the fact that they're a couple, but like Duke said, it's their careers if they get caught. So they have a lot of incentive."

"They're both from New York city," Sooraya observed as she flipped through the pile of notes we'd put on Marie's desk. "Ah. Here's something. They attended the same high school - Midtown High - at the same time. Miss Watson left after her junior year, when she began working for the studio. Miss Stacy stayed in school, graduated, and then moved here within a year."

"Maybe they were high-school sweethearts and reconnected when they both ended up in the same town?" Marie suggested. "Or better yet, Gwen actually followed MJ here."

"Maybe," I said. Then I glanced at my wristwatch. "Tell you what - let's go have a talk with Remy. He knows Gwen and I'll bet he knows Mary Jane. Maybe he has something to tell us."

* * *

"Ladies! Welcome to Remy's!" the buxom hostess said proudly. Then, with a flourish, she opened the inner door to the club. Even before she did that, we could hear the sound of music and conversation on the far side of the door. Once the door opened, the sound became a roar.

Marie and I walked in. I was still in my usual suit and tie, but Marie had taken the time to slip into something more fashionable. She keeps a freshly cleaned evening gown and a good pair of high-heels in the office. That sort of look can sometimes be handy while working a case.

For my part, I'd put on a clean shirt, buffed my shoes, and ran a comb through my hair. Hey, I never claimed to be anywhere near as stylish as Marie. In fact, it's a waste of time to even try.

It wasn't even eight yet, but Remy's was packed and filled with smoke. On the far end of the room, one of the best of the local big-bands was playing some particularly bouncy jazz, and couples were responding by crowding the dance floor. On the side-stages, some very pretty girls wearing huge hats and tall high-heels - and nothing else - were swaying to the beat. The door to Remy's famous backroom was open and the people inside were eagerly throwing their money away at Remy's gaming tables.

Remy's is the Wild West of local nightclubs. Anything can happen - and often does. Remy keeps his business open through a combination of political pressure, bribes, and blackmail. Too many important people have their needs and desires filled there, Remy makes a ton of money doing that, and a lot of unwise things have been done within those four walls by people who should have known better. The combination makes Remy and his establishment a difficult target for the local guardians of public morality.

The only wilder place in town was the Hellfire Club. However, the Hellfire Club is members-only, and is pretty snooty about who gets to be a member. Besides, Remy's has better music and a lot less bondage. I prefer it that way.

Well... usually.

"Dom! Marie!" someone yelled.

We both glanced towards one of the side-stages. A tall dancer, naked from her eyebrows to her ankles, was waving at us.

Marie waved back eagerly. I was a bit more restrained.

The dancer - her name was Lucy Langtry - pointed to a table next to her stage. The people sitting there were getting ready to leave. We began moving in that direction, working our way through the crowd. Just before we got to the table, a trio of businessmen moved in, obviously intent on taking over. But a waiter calmly intercepted them, pointed to Marie and I, and told them something. The businessmen looked disgruntled, but backed off.

Seconds after Marie and I sat down, a pair of whiskey's appeared in front of us.

Yeah, we're fairly well known at Remy's. And the owner likes us. The staff has picked up on that.

"Is this a good idea?" I said softly into Marie's ear.

"Do you see Remy anywhere?" Marie responded.

She had a point. Normally, by now Remy would be all over us. Well... actually he'd be all over Marie. He's got a big ol' Cajun crush on her.

Every now and then, Remy leaves town for a while. That usually meant someone, somewhere, was about to be relieved of their more valuable possessions. Yeah, I'd noticed that pattern a long time ago, but had never got around to telling Remy that I knew his secret. I was saving it for a rainy day.

However, Marie and I had to talk to somebody. And it looked like the man himself wasn't around. So maybe Lucy could help.

* * *

The song currently playing ended. Another dancer came on stage to relieve Lucy - and Lucy stepped off the stage and right onto the table where we were sitting. She was still naked.

Kneeling on our table, Lucy leaned over, tilted the absurdly huge hat she was wearing out of the way, and then gave me a long, long, kiss.

I didn't really try to avoid it. Did I mention how pretty Lucy is?

Once the kiss ended, Lucy glanced at a definitely amused Marie and said, "Sorry, but I really owe Dom here an apology."

"Uh... why?" I asked after I licked my lips. Lucy's lipstick tasted expensive. And that close to her, I could tell she'd also used lipstick to touch up her nipples. I had a sudden fantasy of making a taste comparison. It took some effort not to follow through.

"I do remember bits and pieces of the last time we met," Lucy replied - she was obviously enjoying my confusion. "I was kinda rude to you. For one thing, I said your ass reminded me of a guy's ass."

"Well, it is kinda narrow and firm," Marie interjected thoughtfully, "so you aren't really wrong. But really, I like it that way."

"Yeah, I can see your point," Lucy agreed, "but it's been bothering me. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"I think my ass is just fine," I said with an attempt at vast dignity - not that anybody was listening. It was pretty obvious by then that I didn't have any control of the conversation. That's a characteristic of talking with Lucy.

Still holding back the brim of her hat with one hand, Lucy then leaned to the side and kissed Marie. "And that's my apology for groping Dom the last time we met," Lucy said when she was done. "I put a lot of hands-on moves on your girl."

"I don't know," Marie replied with a broad smile. "I was pretty offended. You might just have to apologize again..."

Lucy obliged. The people at the nearby tables were getting quite a show, but they seemed to be enjoying it. Even the replacement dancer on-stage was just going through the motions as she watched Lucy in action. Lucy is more than just good-looking - she's a bundle of charismatic heat and energy.

"Okay, I forgive you," Marie said when Lucy was done. She sounded a little breathless. And there was a good reason for that, Lucy is one hell of a kisser.

"Dammit, Lucy! Put on some clothes when you're off-stage!" a male voice yelled. Then something that looked like a big scarf sailed through the air and landed on the table, right between Lucy and us.

"Stupid rules," Lucy grumbled as she nimbly rolled off our table and wrapped the scarf-thing around her hips. It covered about three-quarters of her ass, but unless she stood perfectly still, the tied-off ends didn't really conceal her bush.

They have an interesting definition of 'clothes' for the dancers are Remy's.

Lucy took off her big hat and tossed it onto our table. Obviously relieved, she ran her hands through her damp hair - she's a brunette and keeps it medium-short. Then she squeezed between me and the table and sat on my lap, facing me. My hands automatically went to her knees, as I tried to get a handle on the situation by pinning her into place. Lucy just smiled and pulled my hands up until they were very high on her warm thighs. The tip of one of my thumbs brushed against a wisp of pubic hair.

"How about you?" Lucy asked me huskily. "Am I forgiven yet?"

"Well..." I responded slowly. Then I couldn't talk any more because Lucy's tongue was back in my mouth.

* * *

We met Lucy during a previous case. She was both a source of information and a blackmail victim. She wasn't our client, but while working the case we dealt with the blackmailer. We also found out that something had been done to Lucy's mind - something permanent. And that was a problem.

"Didn't you have a talk with Jean Grey?" I asked once Lucy was done kissing me. Someone had messed with Lucy's mind in a way that really bothered Jean, but at the time she hadn't been sure what to do about it.

Lucy's eyes met mine, and they were bright with amusement. "Oh, yeah. You know, for such a pretty lady, Jean can be kind of boring sometimes. Blah-blah-blah biochemical influence. Blah-blah-blah, my mind got messed with. Blah-blah-blah, that's why I really like sex. Blah-blah-blah, free will. Blah-blah-blah, please let me help. Blah-blah-blah. You know what I told her?"

"What?" I asked slowly.

Lucy kissed me on the nose and leaned close to me, her uncovered breasts pushing against mine. Then her mouth was next to my ear.

"I told her that I'm happy," she whispered to me, her breath hot on the side of my face. "I'm happy and maybe she should just accept that."

I considered that for a long moment. And then I nodded. Jean's got a pretty strong sense of right and wrong, and she's one of the most powerful psychics I know. If she decided to let what had happened to Lucy slide, then maybe I should also leave it be.

"Can we talk in private?" I asked.

Lucy leaned back and smiled as she once again stared into my eyes.

"Only if Marie comes along," she answered.

* * *

That was how we found ourselves in one of Remy's infamous private rooms.

Actual sex - whether it be prostitution or otherwise - supposedly isn't tolerated in Remy's establishment. The private rooms are supposed to be for private parties and discreet meetings. Quite a few deals are cut in Remy's place and a lot of those deals involve the sort of things that people don't want overheard.

Of course, Remy also says that once the doors close, even he doesn't know for sure what goes on in one of his private rooms. And nobody on the staff protested when an essentially-naked Lucy escorted us into a back room with a hand on each of our asses.

The room itself was maybe thirty feet by thirty feet in size. There was an expensive-looking oak table and some finely-made chairs. The walls and door were paneled and upholstered in a way that both looked fancy and made the room soundproof.

Lucy took off her hip-hugging wrap and hung it from a coat hook. She was back to wearing nothing but her heels, some expertly-applied makeup, and a hungry smile.

"We just want to talk," I told her quickly.

Lucy rolled her eyes, leaned against the door, and indignantly crossed her arms under her breasts. "Wow. What's a girl got to do to get some attention from you two?"

"Believe us, sugar," Marie chuckled as her eyes wandered up and down Lucy's tall and rangy form. "We're paying attention."

That made Lucy smile. "Are you two on a case?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

A grin appeared on Lucy's face. "Neat! I like detective movies. Are you going to handcuff me to a chair and give me the third degree?"

"It's not like in the movies," Marie replied with an amused shake of her head.

Which is true. Usually, most detective work is routine. However, in a town full of powered people, it can get weird in a hurry. And sometimes it can just as quickly get deadly.

"We hear that Gwen Stacy got her start here," I said.

Lucy nodded. "That's true. We were the first place in town where she sang. She's a little more legit nowadays, but she does a gig here every couple of months. I think she figures she owes Remy for giving her a chance. Remy appreciates the courtesy - those are always big nights for us."

"How well do you know her?" I asked.

The Lucy shook her head. "Uh-uh, girls. I've been pretty patient with you two, but from now on we're doing things my way. Every question you ask, you have to take something off."

I was still trying to understand what Lucy was asking when Marie unhesitatingly kicked off her shoes.

Lucy responded immediately. "Gwen and I have talked, but its not like we're pals. We move in different circles."

"Does she have any problems? Is anybody hassling her?" Marie asked.

"That's two questions," Lucy pointed out.

Marie took off her string of (fake) pearls and put them on the table. Then she wiggled out of her dress - it didn't have a zipper - and draped it over the nearest chair. That left her down to her bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings.

Lucy shrugged. "As far as I know, she's doing fine. Of course, back when she first started here, there were the usual problems with customers hitting on her, but that's to be expected. For a kid her age, she handled them pretty well. Gwen's not just a pretty face and good set of tonsils. She's smart."

Then she frowned. "She was here a couple of nights ago - as a customer, not a singer. And she had a nasty bruise on the side of her face. She was wearing a veiled hat to try and cover it, but I caught a glimpse."

Marie and I exchanged a look.

"What do you know about her?" I added hastily. Marie was getting way ahead in this game. Then I took off my jacket and dropped it on a chair.

Lucy gave me a slightly dirty look. I think she would have preferred that Marie keep paying the toll.

"She's from New York. Her daddy's a cop. I've met him - he came down about a year ago to hear her sing. I think he'd rather she be doing something closer to home, and maybe a little more traditional, but he's proud of her."

"What's he like?" Marie asked before I could say anything else. Then she unhooked her bra and put it on the same table as my jacket.

Lucy and I both paused to enjoy the view. It's great when people share a common interest.

Then Lucy grinned cheerfully. "He's an older man, but in good shape, and handsome in a craggy and distinguished kind of way. He's also worried that his daughter is hanging around with the wrong sort of people. He's an old-fashioned tough-guy who likes his coffee black, his whiskey neat, and his women bent over the kitchen table. I like him."

Marie and I looked at each other.

"Oh, don't be so shocked," Lucy snorted. "He was sitting alone, listening to his daughter sing. I sat down and we talked. I liked him and things took off from there. It wasn't easy to get him to relax, but it was definitely worth my time. The next morning he gave me his phone number and asked me to let him know if I ever heard that Gwen was in trouble."

"Have you ever felt the need to call him?" I asked. That cost me my shoes.

"Yeah. Right about the time we started having this conversation - and then remembered that mark on her face. What's going on? Is Gwen okay?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that if Lucy wanted me to answer that, maybe she should do something of us. But given that this was Lucy, that was a dangerous direction to go.

"We have a case that involves her, but we don't have a lot to work with. So we're asking around. Oh... and there's no need to call her dad about that. So far, nothing much has turned up."

Lucy considered that. Then she shook her head. "I hope she's not in trouble. I only talked to her a few times, but she seems like a sweet girl. Singers are usually nut-cases. Gwen isn't like that."

"Is she seeing anyone?" Marie asked suddenly.

Marie unsnapped her stockings and was yanking them off her legs as Lucy answered. "No boyfriends that I know of, but I really don't know her all that well."

"We know she works both sides of the aisle," I told Lucy.

She looked at me. With a sigh, I loosened my tie and pulled it off.

"Yeah, but I hear that lately she's been leaning towards the lady's side of the aisle. Most of the guys she sees seem like they're just for show. If she has a main squeeze - either guy or gal - I don't know who it is."

"Does Gwen's father know about her tastes?" I asked as I unzipped my pants. I was wearing my shoulder-holster over my shirt, and I'd rather not give that up.

Lucy considered that. "I don't know. And before you ask, he absolutely would not hurt his daughter if he found out. Once you get past his take-no-shit exterior, George is actually a pretty gentle guy. And he adores Gwen."

And then somebody knocked on the door. Marie and I kept to the background as Lucy opened the door a crack and talked to somebody outside.

"Sorry, girls," she said to us over her bare shoulder. "But another dancer twisted her ankle and I gotta go spell her. Later!"

And then Lucy was gone.

Marie and I looked at one another.

"Well, that was interesting new take on background research," Marie said with an impish smile.

I just growled as I reached for my pants.

* * *

So we were a little disheveled as we left Remy's. Marie stopped in the lady's room to repair her makeup as I waited for her outside.

I enjoyed the fresh air as I waited. Actually, it was a nice night. The heat of the day was dying as the world cooled into darkness. A three-quarter moon was partially hidden by clouds coming in from the sea. The western sky was crystal-clear with bright stars, but to the east the sky was covered by a bank of back-lit clouds.

As I watched people come-and-go from the parking lot, I remembered a gun-fight that happened in front of Remy's. That was about two years ago, and it was a high-point in the case where I first met Emma Frost, Jean Grey, and Charles Xavier. And it wasn't even the most violent part of that case.

I shook my head in amazement. Just a couple of years ago. And so much had happened since then.

Marie came out of the club and hooked her arm around mine. She likes being our more feminine half.

"I hate to say it," she said to me, "but it strikes me as likely that Gwen and MJ got into a fight with each other."

I shrugged. "That's not good, but it could be worse. If it was just a lover's spat, then they can settle things between them - either by making up or breaking up. That's a lot less sinister than some of the other possibilities."

"But we have to make sure," Marie said.

I nodded in agreement.

* * *

Mary Jane Watson lived in a nice house in a rich part of town, which meant a stake-out would probably attract police attention. The bottom line is that the wealthy get better police protection than the rest of us. So instead we decided to again turn our sights on Gwen Stacy. She was living in a downtown brownstone. In that part of town, there are a lot more places for us to park our car and observe without being spotted.

Honestly, the odds were against us seeing anything of interest, but we didn't have a lot of leads.

If Marie isn't molesting me, we usually take turns sleeping while we're on a stakeout. Around midnight, Marie shook me awake.

"We've got something," she told me urgently.

I quickly sat up. There was a man at Gwen Stacy's door. He and Stacy were talking.

"He just stepped outside," Marie said. "He must have been in Stacy's place when we got here."

There was a pair of binoculars on the seat next to me. I focused them on Stacy and her friend. The light wasn't good, but I could see brown hair and a youngish face. Standing next to Stacy, he was only an inch or two taller than her. He had a slightly skinny build and was wearing a brown suit.

Gwen and the new guy hugged each other, and then there was a kiss. There was some heat to their kiss, but it didn't have the kind of intensity you see with new lovers. They'd known each other for some time.

"I think we've found out why Gwen and MJ are fighting," I said confidently. Marie made a satisfied "uh-huh" noise.

And then MJ Watson stepped out of the apartment door. She said something to the guy as Gwen continued to hug him. After that, MJ put a hand on the guy's chin, turned his head towards her, and kissed him as well.

"Okay... what the hell?" Marie exclaimed softly. I just shrugged. So much for our theory that some new guy was rocking Gwen and MJ's boat.

There were a few final words and then the guy turned and left. Gwen and MJ watched him walk away - it seemed to me that there was something sad and contemplative in their faces. Then MJ put an arm around Gwen and they went back inside.

The guy got into a late model Buick and started the car. I read-off the license plate to Marie as she jotted it down.

I started our car, making sure not to give the engine too much gas and attract attention. Then we tailed our new player. It turned out that he lived on the north-side of downtown, in a four-story apartment building. After he parked his car, he didn't immediately enter the building. Instead, he stood next to his car and gazed up at the sky for a while. After about ten minutes of that, he finally went inside.

Marie and I drove home after that. We had a lot to think about.

The next morning we tracked down the identity of Gwen and MJ's mysterious friend. A contact at the DMV used his license plate number to get us an id.

His name was Peter Parker.

* * *

A quick check of the local business guides showed that Peter Parker was employed as a chemist for Stark Industries. We then spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon telephoning a series of sources and contacts. The first of them was someone at Stark Industries. She summarized the information from Parker's resume to me over the phone.

Still using our phones, we back-tracked Parker's resume, pretending to be with a company that was thinking of hiring him. That gave us a sequence of other leads to pursue.

That afternoon, I summed up what we had found.

"Parker was born and raised in Queens, which is a borough of New York city. Growing up, Parker was a bit of a hard-luck kid. His parents died in a train accident when he was ten. After that, he moved in with his aunt and uncle. When Parker was in high-school, his uncle was killed in a street robbery gone bad. Parker apparently responded by burying himself in his schoolwork. His aunt didn't have any money and Parker's only way into college was to get a scholarship - which he did."

"I guess this isn't a big surprise, but Parker went to the same high-school as Stacy and Watson. According to our address checks, he and Gwen Stacy had homes right across the street from each other. They literally grew up together. Watson came into the scene later on. She started going to Peter and Gwen's high-school partway through their first year."

"For a while, Parker was a free-lance photographer for a New York news-rag called the "Daily Bugle". I talked to a secretary there named Bryant and she had nothing but good things to say about him. Parker's boss is kind of a blowhard, but he was also pretty complimentary. We got the same response from his teachers and professors. Everyone who knows Parker seems to like him."

"Parker is fresh out of graduate school. He graduated last fall from Empire State University with Masters degrees in biology and chemistry. He turned a lot of heads with an apparently quite impressive thesis - which was about replicating natural materials with man-made chemical processes. He doesn't have a criminal record, or any known vices. He apparently sticks close to the lab and the library. Even some of his professors seem to think that he needs to get his nose out of the books and get out more often. And he doesn't seem to have a lot in the way of personal friends."

"He has at least two that we know about," Sooraya corrected.

I nodded in agreement. "And the weird thing is, almost nobody seems to know that Parker has those two famous friends."

"Based on what we saw last night, I'd say they're more than just friends," Marie said with a shrug.

"And that's a bit surprising," I admitted. "Parker is apparently smarter than hell, but he doesn't really strike me as a man who'd be good with women."

"Threesomes do happen," Marie pointed out. "And that might explain how all three of them ended up here, instead of staying in New York. MJ got her career-making job and came here. Then Gwen followed. Parker showed up almost as soon as he got out of college."

"Makes sense," I conceded.

"But where does this leave us?" Sooraya asked. There was a frown on her face. "We still don't know what is happening with Miss Watson."

That was a good point.

"Well, there is something else we can check on," I said.

Marie and Sooraya gave me an expectant look.

"I got a pretty good look at Stacy, Parker, and Watson last night," I said.

"That's hard to forget," Marie chuckled. "We went from thinking we'd figured out what was going on, to being back to not having a clue, in a matter of about ten seconds."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Okay. Now, Duke told us that MJ was so banged up that it was creating a problem with her movie's shooting schedule. And the stunt guys on that movie are telling Duke that it looked like she was in an actual fight. Right?"

Marie nodded. Sooraya kept quiet.

"And two nights before we talked to Lucy, she saw Gwen Stacy with a big bruise on her face. And it was so bad that Lucy noticed it underneath a veil that Gwen was wearing."

Marie nodded again. Again, Sooraya didn't say anything.

"Okay, last night I got a good look at both Gwen, MJ, and Parker. In fact, I had my binoculars on all of them. And both Gwen and MJ looked fine. They weren't hurt at all."

Marie and Sooraya exchanged a glance.

"That doesn't sound right," Marie said eventually. "If they were as banged up as we've been told, there's no way they could have healed up that fast."

This time, it was my turn to nod. "Who do we know who has the ability to heal injuries in no time at all?"

Marie closed her eyes. "Dammit," she sighed.

Sooraya said something in her native language that I think translated as, "Oh, for fuck's sake."

* * *

Josh Foley is Sooraya's husband. There's never been a formal ceremony, but they live together, have a son that they both cherish, and have recently taken to calling themselves man-and-wife. That's good enough for me.

Josh and Sooraya spent years as slaves of a malignant bastard called the Egyptian. The Egyptian was a psychic who fed off the emotions of human misery and suffering, and he really liked the taste of people with powers - what the scientists like to call "mutants."

Josh and Sooraya are both mutants.

I don't know everything that the Egyptian did to Josh and Sooraya. I don't want to know. I've caught a few hints and what little I do know makes me feel sick.

Sooraya can turn into a living storm of wind-driven dust. It's a more powerful and dangerous ability than you might think, since she can actually abrade flesh from bone when she really gets going. The Egyptian sold Sooraya again and again as a prostitute, but I've never asked if he also sold her as an assassin. I do know that there are some unsolved murders that fit her M.O. rather neatly.

Like I said, I don't want to know.

Josh, on the other hand, is a healer. He can cure diseases and heal busted bones and torn flesh by simply wishing it. There was a time when the Egyptian sold his services to the rich and desperate for a handsome sum.

He's never said anything about it, but I assume Josh can also kill with his power. And a lot of people do die of cancer, heart-attacks, consumption, infections, etc. Some of them die quickly and unexpectedly.

I still don't want to know.

We walked home with Sooraya and found Josh reading on the couch. Hassim was dozing peacefully in his lap. Josh seemed pretty surprised when all three of us walked through the door.

* * *

"Yeah, I healed Stacy and Watson," Josh told us without a trace of hesitation. "It was yesterday afternoon. Watson's agent knew me back when... well, he knows me. I've been working lately and word's been getting around that I'm back. Watson's agent came up to me on the street and told me that he had a job for me. The agent didn't want any names thrown around, but I recognized Watson almost immediately. It took me a little longer to figure out that the other lady was Gwen Stacy."

Josh glanced at Sooraya. "The pay was good - a hundred bucks. I put most of it into savings, but we're getting a new bed from Sears."

Sooraya gave her husband a fond look. Hassim was now in her lap. He was still asleep.

"What can you tell us?" I asked.

Josh shrugged. "It looked like they were in a fight. Bruises, cuts, and the like. Stacy even looked like she'd been grazed by a bullet. It didn't take me long to fix them. I said I would do it for twenty, but they insisted on paying me more. I didn't argue with them."

"Did they actually tell you that they'd been in a fight?" Marie asked.

"No. But it was obvious from the injuries."

"Did they say anything to you?"

Josh shook his head. "Mostly 'hello' and 'thank you', but that's fine. They were polite, and anybody who jumps up my fee by that much is okay by me."

"Could you tell anything about them?" Sooraya asked.

I wasn't sure what Sooraya was asking. Marie looked puzzled as well.

Josh shifted uncomfortably. "Well..." he began hesitantly.

"What are you two going on about?" Marie asked sharply.

Josh let out a breath. "I don't advertise it, but when I heal people, sometimes I can tell things about them. I can sense health problems, but I can also pick up other stuff."

I nodded. That made sense. "So what about Gwen and MJ?"

"They're powered," Josh said slowly.

Marie looked at me, her eyebrows raised high. This town has the highest percentage of powered people - mutants and such - than anywhere else on Earth.

"Except they're somehow different than most powered people," Josh continued awkwardly. "They didn't feel right. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Can you get more exact than that?" I asked. Marie and I had run into more than a few individuals who seemed to have really strange origins for their powers. A few of them actually seemed to be supernatural. Other's were a product of science gone crazy.

Josh nodded. "Actually, they reminded me a lot of the Banners. You know how they were poisoned by radiation? It felt something like that."

A while back, Josh tried to help Bruce and Elizabeth Banner. It didn't work - the radiation killing them was a part of them.

The Banner's were better now. If I were to believe Emma Frost, what eventually cured the Banners was a hell of a lot more extreme than anything Josh could bring to bear.

"By the way," I told Josh. "You're on retainer now. How does twenty a month sound?"

"Retainer?" Josh repeated curiously. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're on-call to help us when we need your help. Remember when you healed my busted knuckles last month? And that time Marie was thrown off that cable car? You're a pro and we should have been paying you. I'm sorry I didn't think of that before."

Josh looked a little indignant. "Hey, I owe you two..."

"And we owe you something for your time," I interrupted. "Believe me, I now expect you to be right there when we need your help. And the retainer isn't all of your pay - it just means you're keeping yourself available for us. You need to come up with some rates for what you do. You know a lady who's pretty good with a typewriter, so have her type something up and we can talk about it."

Sooraya was smiling now. I felt good about that. She doesn't smile much.

"Welcome to working for Dom," Marie told Josh. "She's a damned slave-driver."

For the first time since I met him, I saw Josh Foley laugh.

* * *

Back at the office, we spent an hour or two considering the case from different angles. Nothing seemed helpful.

I couldn't see how it mattered that Gwen and MJ were powered. That just didn't seem to have anything to do with the case. At least not yet.

"Perhaps we should call Miss Grey?" Sooraya suggested.

I shook my head. "She wouldn't be interested," I replied.

Jean Grey is a psychic who's also on retainer for us. However, she's very hesitant about going through people's minds for no good reason. At this stage of the investigation, if I were to ask her to read MJ Watson's mind, I knew she'd refuse.

Actually, I approved of that.

Then I made a decision.

"Grab our traveling bag," I told Marie. "We're taking the next train to New York city."

Sooraya keeps a train schedule in her desk. She immediately dug it out and began running a finger down a list of departure times.

"If you hurry, you can catch the 3:20 express," she told us.

"You've got an idea?" Marie asked as she retrieved a satchel from the closet.

I nodded. "Everyone in this case comes from Queens. Let's pay a visit."

* * *

The next morning, Marie and I were in the Parker living room, having tea and cookies with May Parker. We almost had to use force to prevent her from cooking us a full breakfast.

Parker's aunt was an elderly woman with pure white hair and more than a few lines on her face, but she was still active. Her home was meticulously clean and there was a clear awareness in her eyes that I certainly hope I'll have if I ever make it to her age.

There were framed photos scattered along the walls of the living room. Most of them were of Peter and May's late husband. A few featured combinations of a younger Peter, Mr. Parker, and Mrs. Parker with a couple who I assumed were Peter's parents. The resemblance between Peter and his father was pretty strong, but you could see his mother around his eyes.

According to May, her late husband had been an amateur photographer. I knew from our background research that Peter shared the same interest. Peter had probably picked it up from his uncle.

It also occurred to me that May Parker didn't have a lot left of her family.

"Is Peter in some kind of trouble?" Mrs. Parker asked worriedly.

"No, ma'am," Marie and I said simultaneously. May Parker was one of those women that you automatically didn't want to upset.

"But some friends of his might be," I continued. "Do you know Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson?"

"Yes," Mrs. Parker said. "Gwen grew up just across the street. And MJ stayed for a while with my cousin Anna - her parents were out of town a great deal. During that time, MJ went to high-school with Peter and Gwen. Oh, what have those two gotten themselves into? Is it serious?"

"We don't know for sure," I admitted. "And hopefully it's nothing much. Look, you know that they've both become pretty famous, right?"

Mrs. Parker gave me an amused look. "I'm old, my dear, not ancient. I go to the theater every now and then. Anna and I have seen every one of MJ's movies. And I hope to get a chance to hear Gwen sing. I've heard her before, of course, but I'd love to see her in a fancy nightclub."

"Sorry," I said with an apologetic wave of my hand. "So you obviously know Gwen, but how well do you know MJ?"

Mrs. Parker nodded her head towards a partially visible kitchen table. "Once MJ started going to school with Peter, she had dinner with us more than once. Anna and her husband both work - somebody had to feed MJ."

"So Peter and MJ were friends?" Marie asked.

A smile dimpled Mrs. Parker's face. "Not at first. MJ is a very pretty girl and they tend to have wild expectations about the kind of men they're supposed to associate with. That can be even worse in high-school. It helped that MJ become very close with Gwen."

"So MJ and Gwen hit it off?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

"Why, yes they did," Mrs. Parker said as she took a sip of tea. Suddenly, her eyes were not quite meeting mine.

Yeah, Mrs. Parker knew about Gwen and MJ. It's a common mistake to assume that the elderly come from an ancient world that's so less sophisticated than ours. Human reality also existed when they were young.

"Did Peter, MJ, and Gwen ever do things together?" Marie asked.

There was another hesitation before Mrs. Parker answered. "Actually, they had another friend - a young fellow named Harry Osborn. The four of them would go places. They also worked on school projects and did homework together. The others depended on Peter to help them with their schoolwork. Perhaps they depended on him a bit too much, but he was happy to help. For so long, he didn't have many friends."

"Mrs. Parker, did the four of them ever get in any kind of trouble?" I asked.

"Why, no," Mrs. Parker said. "They were good children."

"Was there anything else that was bad, or even just unusual, that involved them?"

There was a long pause as Mrs. Parker considered my question. I noticed her eyes drift to a particular picture on the wall as something boundlessly sad seemed to creep into her.

But then she put herself under control.

"No," Mrs. Parker said.

She wasn't telling us everything.

* * *

Back on the sidewalk outside of Mrs. Parker's place, Marie and I considered our next move.

"Mrs. Parker definitely got more and more evasive as we talked," Marie said.

I nodded. "I'd say she knows about Gwen and MJ... but I think it's more than that."

"She knows about the three of them - or at least she suspects," Marie told me, "but there's no way an old fashioned lady like Mrs. Parker is going to talk about that. And did you see where Mrs. Parker looked after you asked her if anything bad ever happened to the kids?"

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. Right at a picture of the deceased Mr. Parker - Peter's uncle."

Marie glanced across the street, checking out the street numbers posted on the houses. The Stacy residence was just northwest of the Parker house.

"Well... do you suppose that the local police captain might know something useful?" Marie asked grimly.

I nodded my head. "Yeah, but he's not likely to be home at this hour."

We checked anyway. Nobody was home.

"We'll double-back tonight," I told Marie. "For right now, let's see if we can get in touch with Harry Osborn."

* * *

We had to go to Manhattan to talk to Osborn. It turned out that he was rich. Or rather, his father was. Marie and I were both surprised when we found out that Harry was the son of the famous Norman Osborn - the lord and master of the Osborn Corporation. Norman Osborn was famous for his inventive genius. In certain circles, he was also known for his ruthless business practices.

Harry worked at his father's business, but once my phone-call finally worked its way through a phalanx of switch-board operators and secretaries, he made time to see us. We met in the guest room of a private club. The club was right down the street from the office building where Harry worked.

Osborn was as well dressed as you would expect. He was moderately handsome, medium height and weight, and seemed to be more fit than you might expect for a career desk-jockey. His hair was a little unusual - it was sort of a ginger-brown color and tightly curled. I've seen pictures of Norman Osborn, so I knew Harry had inherited that particular trait from his father.

"You say this is about Mr. Parker's murder?" he asked. We'd talked for a while on the phone before he agreed to meet with us.

"We're working a case and Mr. Parker's murder came up," I told Harry. "We'd like to ask you some questions."

Harry smiled grimly. "If it helps find the man who killed Ben Parker, ask any question you want."

"Just tell us what you remember," Marie said.

Harry frowned thoughtfully, then he started talking.

"I'm friends with Peter Parker. Pete lost his mother and father when he was young, but his aunt and uncle took him in. Ben Parker was Pete's uncle, but when you get down to it, he was really Pete's father."

"Ben and Pete had an argument about something stupid. Pete got mad and took off. Me and some friends met in a local diner - it's called "The Queen of Queens" - to talk it over with Pete. We were really just letting Pete blow off some steam."

Then Harry sighed. "It was all stupid, juvenile, stuff. You know, when we sat down in that diner, the four of us were just kids, but we were about to do a lot of growing up."

"We heard a shot. At first, I didn't know exactly what it was. I remember thinking that it was a truck backfire, but an unusually loud one. But there was a girl with us who's father is a cop. She recognized it."

"Maybe it was stupid, but I went to the door and peeked out. Not that far away - less than thirty feet - I could see Ben Parker lying on the sidewalk. Blood was already pooling around him. A guy with a gun was kneeling next to him and going through Ben's wallet. He looked angry. Then he threw the wallet away and ran off down an alley."

"I yelled for Pete and ran out the door. The others followed me. I got to Mr. Parker first and... and I couldn't figure out what to do. He was bleeding like crazy from a chest wound."

"Then Pete got there. We tried to help Mr. Parker, but there was nothing we could do. I tried to plug the hole in his chest with my handkerchief, while Pete tried to comfort his uncle."

Then Harry's face twisted in emotion. "At least their last words weren't the angry ones from the argument."

"Mr. Parker died while we were trying to help him. Pete... well... Pete took it hard."

Harry had a difficult time going on. The rules of masculinity didn't allow him to say that his friend had broken down.

Then Harry sighed and ran a well-manicured hand through his hair. "I should have ran after the guy who shot Mr. Parker. I should have, but we spent so much time trying to save Mr. Parker. And then Pete needed my help..."

"Mr. Osborn, the guy had a gun," I said as gently as I could. "If you'd caught up with him, you probably would have ended up just like Ben Parker."

Harry nodded, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. In the end, we are our worst critics.

Marie glanced at me. I made a tiny negative gesture with my head. There was a problem with Osborn's story, but I didn't want to make a big deal of it. At least not yet.

"Did you get a good look at the killer?" Marie asked. That was a more neutral question.

"A white male, tall, dark hair, dressed like a working man." Harry said - recited really - in a voice that was half-sad and half-angry. "If I had a penny for every time I've said that to the police..."

"You said when you ran out of the diner, your friends were right behind you," I added. "Is it possible any of them got a better look at the killer?"

Harry shrugged. "Pete didn't - he was focused on his uncle. Of the others, one stayed with me and Pete. The other ran past us and looked down the alley. Later on, she told me she got a good look at the guy when he turned the corner. She told the cops what she saw."

* * *

Marie and I ended up on a park bench, watching the locals feed the pigeons.

"So what does our case have to do with Ben Parker's murder?" Marie asked.

I gave her a long look. "I didn't say it did."

Marie shook her head. "Uh-uh, sugar. You either have a gut feeling, or you're seeing a connection that I'm missing. Which is it?"

"It's a gut feeling," I admitted, "but there's something hinky about the interviews we've done. It's got me thinking."

Marie cocked her head. "You mean how Harry avoided identifying the two persons who were with him and Parker? I caught that. One of them - the girl who's father is a cop - was obviously Gwen."

I nodded. "And if we get a look at the police report, I'm willing to bet we'll find out that the other was MJ Watson."

Marie nodded in agreement. "That makes sense. The four of them were supposed to be pretty tight back then."

"Okay, here's something else Harry wasn't exactly clear about. Suppose the carefully unnamed Gwen Stacy and MJ Watson see Benjamin Parker dying. Which one stays with Mr. Parker in his last moments and which one goes to see if she can get a better look at the guy with a gun?"

Marie didn't hesitate. "Gwen Stacy stays with Ben Parker. She's known him her entire life - he's the sweet gentleman from next door who's also the adoptive father of her oldest friend. MJ Watson has only known Ben for about a year or so. She's the one who kept going and looked down the alleyway."

"But we still don't have anything solid," I said. "And why is Osborn shading the truth?"

"So far, we've been avoiding talking to Parker, Stacy, or Watson," Marie noted. "Is it time to get more direct?"

"Not yet," I told her.

* * *

We couldn't get in touch with MJ Watson's parents. They're latest residence of record was in Manhattan, but it turned out they were out of town. Her father had a temporary teaching position in Philadelphia, filling in for a professor who was on leave. They weren't expected to be home for a few weeks.

So Marie and I headed back to Queens. We were still planning to see if we could talk to Gwen's father.

Since we had some time to kill, we went to where Ben Parker had died. Of course, there really wasn't anything to see, but Marie and I are private eyes and sometimes we just can't help ourselves. We have to see things for ourselves.

The spot were Ben Parker - by all accounts a decent man with a loving family - had died was just another patch of cracked sidewalk. The people walking up and down the street didn't pause as they walked over the place where Parker had breathed his last.

I wish I could say I'd never heard that story before.

The brick-paved alley that the killer had escaped down was lined with trash-cans. A panel truck delivering crates to a stationary store was blocking access.

The diner was just down the street.

* * *

"I can see why the kids liked this place," Marie observed approvingly.

We'd stopped in at the diner for coffee. The place smelled enticing and had a good crowd of locals, so we decided to turn our stop into a late lunch. It was a good decision. The grilled cheese sandwich and chili special was good. The apple pie was fantastic.

"We still don't have anything," I told Marie.

Marie nodded. "And now I'm wondering if maybe we've stirred the pot too much. Mrs. Parker is probably going to phone Peter as soon as he gets home from work."

"That's not too big of a problem," I countered. "We've kept our client's name out of it. And we haven't made it obvious that we're really focused on MJ."

* * *

We dawdled over coffee until after six, then we headed to Captain Stacy's home.

He opened the door as soon as we knocked.

Lucy pretty much nailed her description of Captain Stacy: he was handsome in a craggy and distinguished way. I'd say he was in his late fifties, but his hair was still more black than gray. Age had put some weight on him, but he carried it well and I was willing to bet that he could throw an effective punch if the need ever arose.

Marie and I were standing on the porch. Captain Stacy was blocking the doorway. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark suit pants. He didn't have on a tie and there were a pair of tattered slippers on his feet.

I couldn't see Stacy's right hand. Therefore, I made a point of keeping my hands very visible and not making any sudden moves. A police officer with Captain Stacy's seniority inevitably makes a lot of enemies over the years.

I had my PI license in my hand. I pulled it out just before we knocked on the door. After the door opened, I flashed it at Captain Stacy and then we identified ourselves.

Stacy examined us carefully. The part where he noticed that I was packing heat was obvious.

"You want to talk to me, see me at the precinct," he growled irritably.

"It's about your daughter and MJ Watson," Marie said.

I jerked my head across the street, towards the Parker home. "And we've talked to Mrs. Parker."

Captain Stacy's bushy eyebrows crawled up his forehead. Then he made a quick decision and stepped away from the door. The gun in his hand was a long-barreled .44 revolver. He tucked it away into a box that was on a table next to the door.

"C'mon in," he ordered.

* * *

Captain Stacy's house wasn't as neat as Mrs. Parker's. And all the furniture was beginning to look worn and dusty. I could guess what had happened - Gwen had been the lady of the house. After she moved out, her father's house began a slow descent into decay.

However, there was one new thing in Captain Stacy's home. On a nearby bookshelf, an unframed picture of Lucy - the dancer from Remy's who we'd played strip-interrogation with - was leaning up against a set of criminology books. In the picture, Lucy was wearing more clothes than usual. And her smile was warm and friendly, rather than filled with her usual feral sensuality.

I thought it was interesting that Captain Stacy could bring out that side of her.

"Sorry to bother you," Marie said politely. She's good at that stuff.

"So what's up with Gwen?" Captain Stacy asked.

"We were hired to work a security case, and the names of your daughter and Miss Watson came up," I replied. "As far as we know, they're not in any danger, and we don't suspect them of anything. But we're worried that someone might have a problem with them."

Stacy's eyes narrowed. "Who's bothering my girl? And who's your client?"

"I don't have an answer to your first question, Captain. We're here because we're trying to figure that out. And you know I can't answer the second question without my client's permission."

"Then what brings you here?"

I took a deep breath before replying. "We're wondering if whatever is going on with Gwen and MJ started here in Queens."

"Gwen left town three years ago," Captain Stacy pointed out. "MJ left before that. Why would something from the old neighborhood become a problem all of a sudden?"

"Good question," I replied. "Apart from your job - is there anything here that might be important? Do they have any enemies? Did they maybe get involved in something illegal when she was younger?"

I half-expected Captain Stacy to get mad and throw us out, but he was a cop as well as a father. So instead, he began considering possibilities.

"No," he said eventually, but he was obviously still mulling it over.

"They were friendly with Peter Parker and Harry Osborn, weren't they?" Marie asked.

Captain Stacy nodded. "Yeah. The four of them were quite the gang for a while. Gwen and Peter have known each other since they were eight years old. The two of them became acquainted with Harry and MJ in high-school."

There was no particular change in Captain Stacy's body language or tone of voice as he talked about his daughter and MJ. I found it amusing that the police captain didn't know his daughter's biggest secret, but the nice little old lady just across the street did.

The good book has a point when it says that there are none so blind as those who will not see.

"Can you think of anything odd that involved all of them? Something that sticks out?"

Captain Stacy immediately nodded.

"Yeah. Ben Parker's murder."

* * *

Captain Stacy's eyes got the "way-back" look of a detail-oriented man remembering something from the past.

"Ben Parker was Peter's uncle. He and May raised Peter after his parent's died. God knows, they did everything they could for him. Ben and May loved that boy. And Ben turned out be a good father."

It seemed to me that Captain Stacy had been more than a neighbor to Benjamin Parker. He'd been a friend.

"Ben was killed by some punk with a revolver. It happened just a few blocks from here, in the old business district. I was one of the first cops on the scene. When I got there, all four of the kids were present - Gwen, MJ, Harry, and Peter. They all looked like hell. Peter was holding his uncle's body. We had to pry the poor kid loose."

"We found a witness who saw the actual shooting. Around sundown, a guy came out of an alley and stuck a gun in Ben's face. Ben gave up his wallet, but the perp shot him anyway. It was senseless."

"We never closed that case," Captain Stacy finished unhappily. "We didn't have a lot of leads, but we worked what we had as best we could. None of them developed. We figured the killer must have skipped town right after the killing."

"Why were the kids at the crime scene?" I asked.

Captain Stacy hesitated before answering. "Ben and Peter had some kind of fight and Peter walked out of the house. He met up with Gwen, MJ, and Harry to talk. It was probably just going to be a bull session about how their parents didn't understand them. There was a diner they all liked to hang around in, and they went there. Ben was looking for Peter - he'd probably figured Peter was at the diner - when he was killed. The kids heard the shot, looked outside, and saw Ben dying on the sidewalk."

I winced.

"Yeah," Captain Stacy said, agreeing with my unvoiced feeling. "You know, Peter blamed himself for his uncle's death. Maybe he still does. I've tried to talk to him about it, but..."

Captain Stacy's voice trailed off into a helpless shrug.

"Did the kids have any enemies? Or just somebody they didn't get along with?"

A wry expression appeared on Captain Stacy's face. "Well... I wouldn't exactly call him an enemy. But there was one kid - he was sort of the neighborhood bully and general jackass. I know Pete and Harry had problems with him."

"Who?" I asked.

* * *

Flash Thompson struck me as a guy who had peaked in high-school. Actually, I found it more than a little surprising that he'd even attended high-school.

He was big, blond, and good-looking. According to Captain Stacy, he was a pretty good athlete back in school.

We found Thompson in a dingy apartment building not too far from the factory where he worked. When he saw us at his door, Thompson didn't hesitate to let us in. He had his eyes on Marie.

"Private eyes, huh?" he said after we introduced ourselves. "What do you want?"

The inside of Thompson's tiny apartment was actually reasonably clean, and the walls were decorated with sports memorabilia. He seemed to be a Yankees fan. There was no sign that anyone else was living with him.

My eyes focused on a photograph. It was of a baseball team and Thompson was standing in the second row.

He noticed where I was looking.

"The Albany Minutemen," Thompson said proudly. "A pretty good minor league team. I pitched for them for a couple of years."

Okay, so maybe Thompson actually peaked right after high-school.

"We're working a case," Marie told him. "It involves Ben Parker's murder."

Thompson's trying-to-be-charming smile wavered. Then he dropped it completely and shook his head. "Yeah. That was bad."

"We heard that you knew the kids who saw what happened," I added.

Thompson nodded as he gestured towards a ratty couch. Marie and I sat down. Then Thompson pulled a wooden chair away from a tiny table and also sat down.

"Most of them have moved out of town," he told us, "but a guy named Harry Osborn - he's Norman Osborn's son - still lives in the city."

"That's how we understand it," Marie said. "Did any of them ever talk about it? The killing, I mean."

Thompson hesitated for a while. "I didn't spend a whole lot of time with those guys. They didn't have much use for me."

"What do you mean by that?" Marie asked.

Thompson shrugged uncomfortably. "Osborn had money. Petey had brains. Gwen and MJ had talent. All I had was muscle. I just didn't have a lot in common with them."

That was actually way more introspective than I would have given Thompson credit for.

Marie gave Thompson her best charming smile, "Really, Flash, are you saying you never tried to get friendly with MJ Watson?"

Thompson grinned back. "We dated a few times, but she didn't seem to be all that interested. So I moved on to the next fish in the sea. But we still talked every know and then. You never know when a girl might change her mind."

"How about Gwen Stacy?" I asked.

Thompson shook his head. "I wasn't the guy she was interested in. That was Parker. Go figure."

"You didn't like Parker," I said. It wasn't a question.

"Parker was the smartest guy I ever met," Thompson told me very flatly. "And he wasn't shy about making sure that everyone knew it. I didn't mind the fact that he would be going places I'd never have the chance to go, but I didn't like having it shoved in my face."

You could see that Thompson had just revealed a little more of himself than he liked. He bought himself some time by getting up and pulling a bottle of beer out of an icebox. He held it up to us in silent invitation.

"No, thanks," Marie and I said more-or-less simultaneously. Thompson used a key to open the bottle, and then sat down again.

"Did Miss Watson ever say anything to you about the killing?" Marie asked.

Thompson gave Marie a long look. And for the first time, he wasn't undressing her with his eyes.

"She told me what she saw."

"And that was it? You never talked to any of them about Mr. Parker's death?"

Thompson smiled, but there was no humor in it. "That was it. Until two weeks ago."

"What happened last week?" I asked.

"MJ was in town - it was some sort of publicity thing for a movie she's making. I managed to a get in touch with her. Then I told her where to find the guy who killed Ben Parker."

Thompson gave us a satisfied smile.

* * *

We didn't say anything as we stared at Thompson. Thompson just smirked and drank his beer. Thompson was playing games, but I understood why. It had been a while since he'd had an audience. He hadn't heard the roar of the crowd for a long time.

"Care to expand on that a little?" I asked.

"The guy who shot Ben Parker ran down an alley and got away," Thompson said as he finished off his beer. He was a fast drinker. I figured that would be a problem for him someday - if it wasn't already. "I was on the other side of that alley. He turned the corner and ran right into me. Hell, he still had the gun in his hand. I got as good a look at him as you could get. At the time, I didn't know what was going on, but I figured it out later on."

"You didn't tell the police?" I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Thompson shook his head. "My family doesn't have the best history with the cops. And there was a big game coming up in a couple of days and I needed the practice time. Also, MJ told me a little later that night that she gave the cops a description. So there was no reason to get involved."

Welcome to the land of Flash Thompson logic. It actually made sense in a really self-involved way.

"So how did you know where to find the guy who killed Ben Parker?" Marie asked.

"I saw him about a month ago. Years after he killed Mr. Parker, I saw him again."

* * *

Thompson finished his story.

"I sometimes make a little spare cash as a driver for the liquor gangs. I'm not a gangster or anything, I just drive a truck. Last month, me and some friends picked up a load of booze down by the Jersey docks. That was when I saw him. He has a small gang that runs that part of the riverfront. I recognized him as soon as I saw him."

"Why didn't you call the cops?" I asked.

Thompson laughed. "In that part of New Jersey? The cops are just the biggest gang. As long as that son-of-a-bitch was paying his bribes, he wasn't going to get arrested. I thought about calling Gwen's dad, but he wouldn't have any pull with the Jersey cops. And besides, he and I never got along."

"Then why did you tell MJ?" Marie asked.

"Because now she's a bigshot movie-star. Which means she knows the people who really run things. So I figured she could talk to some of her important friends and get the G-men involved. That's the only way you're going to arrest a gangster on that side of the river."

"And that also kept you safely out of it," I said coldly.

Thompson gave me a long and hard look. "Look around. I could end up with six bullets in my chest and nobody would care. MJ doesn't live there - or at least, she doesn't anymore. She's safe. So, yeah, I kept my distance. And I plan on keeping it."

"You could have told Osborn," Marie suggested.

Thompson snorted. "When you get down to it, Harry is nothing much without daddy's money. I couldn't be sure that he'd actually do anything. And of the others... well, Petey's a wimp and Gwen is too much of a good-girl. But MJ is a lot tougher and meaner than most people realize."

"Why do you care?" I asked. "Why did you bother to get involved?"

Thompson scratched his chin as he considered my question. His eyes were hard as he looked at me. He knew I that I didn't think much of him.

"Maybe because I wanted to impress MJ one last time?" he said. "Or because I liked Mr. Parker? Or because I want Mrs. Parker to get some kind of justice before she croaks? Or because it was my last chance to make sure that Peter, Harry, MJ, and Gwen know that there's more to me than they think?"

"Go ahead and pick a reason," he finished coldly.

* * *

Rather than make our client pay for a hotel room, Marie and I took a late train home. However, we did splurge for the sleeper car.

There were no bathing facilities in our car - that would have cost a hell of a lot more - but Marie took a wash-cloth bath out of the tiny sink. Normally, I would have enjoyed watching that, but I was distracted by the case. Even when Marie undressed me and gave me the same kind of bath, I barely noticed.

We didn't have all of the details yet, but the case had broken open. When that happens, there's no other feeling in the world quite like it.

I came to my senses when I realized that Marie wasn't just washing my feet - she was about to give me a pedicure.

"What are you doing!?" I yelped as I yanked my foot back from Marie's bare lap. She was sitting on the fold-out bed across from mine.

"Nothing I haven't always wanted to do," Marie answered with a wicked smile.

For Pete's sake, there were cotton balls between my toes!

"Okay, that's unfair," I told her severely. She's always taking advantage of me when I'm concentrating.

I began yanking the cotton balls loose.

Marie regretfully put the cap back on a small bottle of nail polish.

"Do you know what's going on?" I asked.

Marie nodded. "Their injuries, the fact that they're powered, their connection to the Parker family... it makes sense."

I finished for her. "Gwen and MJ are going after the bastard who killed Ben Parker."

* * *

When we got back from New York city, Marie and I bee-lined straight towards the most dangerous pack of criminals in the world.

"That part of New Jersey is not exactly our neighborhood," Hank pointed out to us.

Hank McCoy is the second-in-command of the biggest gang in the city. His boss is a guy called Logan. Hank was the logical person to talk to if you wanted to know the latest criminal news or gossip.

"Oh, bullshit, Hank!" Marie snarled. "You know the underside of the East coast better than anyone on Earth."

Hank leaned back in his chair. He's a big block of a man with over-sized hands and feet. He's also one of the smartest guys I know - and I've met guys like Bruce Banner, Hank Pym, and Tony Stark.

"The docks in that part of New Jersey are a joke," Hank told us. "They're split up between dozens of small gangs, none of them bigger than ten or twenty men. Theoretically, they're all a part of the New York machine, but that's mostly just lip service and an agreement to not step too hard on each other's toes. Someone really should organize that mess."

"Has there been a hit lately?" I asked. "We want to know if a dock-boss was killed. It would have been within the last few days."

Then I paused before continuing. "And it might have been weird."

Hank raised an eyebrow. "'Weird'? Do you mean 'weird' as in 'powered'?"

Marie and I both nodded.

"Four days ago," Hank said. He had a suddenly interested look in his eyes. "A dockside gang in Jersey City got hit hard. A lot of them were hurt or killed, but the core of the gang - the boss and his best hitters - got away. Since then, they've lost control of their stretch of the river, and the story is that they've headed inland and are falling back on the old standard of armed robbery. I hear they hit a bank in Neptune City yesterday."

"Do you know where they're hiding out?" I asked.

"I can find out," Hank told us.

"What's the word on who hit the gang?" Marie asked.

"So far, the assumption is that some other mob took your guys down in a fight over territory, but there are some strange stories going around."

"How strange?" I asked.

"Some are saying that your friends were attacked by monsters."

"Monsters?" I repeated.

Hank nodded. "That's what we've heard."

"What kind of monsters?"

Hank just shrugged.

* * *

We hung around Hank's office until he got a call that told us where the Jersey City gang was hiding - it was a town called Lee's Crossing. Then I asked Hank if he had a current description of the gang's boss. Hank laughed and did me one better. He had a flunky bring us a photo of the guy.

The picture was of a tall and lean mook in an expensive-looking long jacket, talking to a couple of nervous-looking dockworkers. He fit the descriptions we'd heard of Ben Parker's killer, but with a few differences. He wore his hair slicked back and was a lot better dressed.

The picture was pretty good. It had the look of something taken by a surveillance professional.

I looked at Hank. "Just how big is the intelligence-gathering part of your operation?"

"Pretty big," Hank replied seriously.

Considering the resources available to Logan's gang - psychics as well as people who could turn invisible or desolid - that was a actually a pretty scary thought.

Marie was looking thoughtfully at the picture. "He botched the robbery of Ben Parker, committed a reckless murder, was forced to skip town, and then - after just a few years - he ends up running a gang of his own."

"A weird combination of incompetence and talent," Hank noted disapprovingly. "But it doesn't take a lot of smarts to build a gang in New Jersey. Just viciousness."

By then it was obvious why Hank was being so cooperative. He wanted to know what was going on.

Well, so did I.

"Do you have a name for this guy?" I asked Hank.

"He goes by Dennis Carradine," Hank said, "but he likes aliases. We don't know if that's his real name."

Marie and I got in the car and headed north. Duke was paying us to help MJ Watson. We were going to do that by preventing her and her friends from committing a murder.

* * *

Lee's Crossing is a fair-sized town, and it was a good choice for some gangsters on the run. It was big enough that newcomers wouldn't stand out too much, but not big enough to have a turf-conscious local gang. And the cops were likely to be a bit amateurish.

Unfortunately, it was a place where we had no contacts. Finding the gang might not be easy, especially if they were being smart enough to lay low.

"What's the plan when we find them?" Marie asked.

"We take them down," I said. "They should have something incriminating - the loot from their bank-job will do nicely. After that, we put a bow on them and deliver them to the police. Once they're in the jug, Gwen and MJ will just have to call off their little revenge expedition and go back to being rich and famous."

* * *

Marie had come up with a good cover for us. We were a pair of well-off dames from the big-city who were on a driving tour. Lee's Crossing has a lot of rustic buildings - some them went back to before the Revolution - and was also surrounded by woods and fields. Actually, it was rather picturesque place. Our cover gave us an excuse to drive all over town and the surrounding area, and ask odd questions.

However, because of our cover, I had to dress more traditionally. So I was actually in a one-piece dress. It had been a while, and the dress seemed awfully light - almost like I was wearing nothing but underwear. Even worse, I couldn't wear my shoulder holster, so I was carrying a purse. My .45 and spare magazines were tucked inside.

I also had a hefty Derringer in a thigh holster and a switch-blade in a sleeve sheath. I've always figured that the Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared" applied to life in general.

Marie loved how I was dressed and couldn't keep her hands off of me. She took a lot of joy out of keeping a hand up my skirt and running it up and down my legs as we drove up to Lee's Crossing.

We were in town less than a half-hour before we ran into our latest surprise.

* * *

"I don't believe this!" Marie hissed.

We were cruising the downtown, just getting the lay of the land, when we saw them.

It was MJ Watson and Gwen Stacy - as big as life. They were standing outside a local pharmacy, looking around curiously. MJ was wearing a big pair of sunglasses in what I assumed was an attempt to disguise her identity. Gwen wasn't bothering with anything like that, but then she wasn't as well known as her movie-star girlfriend. They were casually dressed as middle-class tourist ladies - a lot like Marie and I, as a matter of fact. It was still hard to hide the fact that they were both hotties. No matter what, that would make them stand out.

Peter Parker was walking down the sidewalk, heading towards Gwen and MJ. Like them, he was dressed casually. He said something to the two women. Gwen reached out and took his arm, pulling Peter next to her. MJ took his other side. The three of them stood together and watched the traffic out on the street.

Then another woman appeared out of the pharmacy. She had dark hair, a thin face, and wasn't dressed as nicely as MJ and Gwen. She was wearing more masculine clothing and carrying a newspaper. She paused to say something to the trio, but as she did, her eyes continued to sweep the surrounding area.

"Dammit," I whispered as I - not too fast - turned the wheel of our car, trying to get us around a corner and out of sight.

Marie didn't make any quick movements, since that might attract attention. Instead she kept a placid look on her face as she slowly turned her head to look out the passenger window. That turned her face away from the gang in front of the pharmacy.

"Do you know the new girl?" Marie asked quietly, barely moving her lips.

"Jessica Jones," I replied as I casually glanced in the rear-view mirror. "She's a private eye out of New York city. And she's good."

By now, we were out of line-of-sight.

"Oh! I get it," Marie said after a moment's thought. "She's helping them track down our gangsters,"

"And she's apparently doing a damn fine job," I said through gritted teeth. "She got them this far."

"Do you think they spotted us?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure."

"But her presence explains something," I added.

"What?"

"Jones does a lot of corporate work. I'll bet Harry Osborn recommended her to his friends."

Marie thought about that. "And that's why he was so hazy about Gwen and MJ being around when Ben Parker was murdered. He knows they're up to something."

I nodded.

* * *

We put a dozen blocks between ourselves and the place where we'd spotted the others. Then I pulled into a half-hidden parking spot.

"Now what?" Marie asked.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. "We have to beat them to the prize."

"So why was Jones in a local drug-store?"

"Our gangsters were in a fight recently," I said after a moment of thought. "Some of them might be hurt."

"And Jones was checking to see if anyone new in town has been buying a lot of first-aid supplies," Marie finished. "You're right - she is good."

I nodded. "But if she's doing something like that, then she doesn't have a good handle yet on exactly where they are."

"We need to get ahead of her," Marie said.

I nodded, all the while mentally flipping through a list of options. We had to work fast.

"Wait here," Marie said. Then she got out of the car.

Across the street was a gas station. A tall and lanky teenager with a prominent Adam's apple was scraping bugs from a windshield as he gassed up a sedan. Marie waited until the boy was done and the car had driven off before she went up to him and started talking.

Marie turned on the charm. The kid was immediately dazzled. After a minute or two of conversation, she crossed the street and came back to the car. The kid stared after her.

I raised an eyebrow as Marie got back in the car.

"There's a fellow who has a shack two miles down the highway," she told me. "He's the local moonshiner. The sheriff is his grand-nephew, so the law leaves him alone. Just about everyone in the county buys from him."

I smiled and then leaned over and gave Marie a kiss on the forehead. That was really pretty clever. After what had happened to them over the last few days, our gangsters almost surely needed a drink.

* * *

The moonshiner's cabin was on a dirt-track, about a mile off the highway, and tucked into a hollow in a low ridge-line. Irregular patches of corn-fields surrounded the cabin, but pine trees loomed on the slopes of the ridge. The cabin was pretty shabby, but it seemed to me it would outlast its owner. And that was probably good enough for him.

As we parked out car, we could smell the distinctive odor of a still cooking somewhere off in the trees behind the shack.

Marie knocked on the door, introduced herself as soon as it opened, and within a minute she and the moonshiner were excitedly talking about moonshine recipes. Marie's originally from Mississippi and she speaks fluent hick.

Within another minute, the old fellow had escorted us to the rickety barn where he stored his product. Then he began sharing out samples of his wares, all the while giving us a detailed description of the mixtures that made up each batch. I really didn't know what he was talking about, but Marie didn't seem to have any trouble following him.

The old man selling the 'shine was named Hanshaw. He was a short and skinny fellow, at least seventy years old, dressed in baggy work pants that really needed to be washed, and an arm-less undershirt that was spectacularly stained. Shaving was apparently something he did about once a month. Bathing probably took place on a similar schedule.

We eventually gave him our cover story. He seemed intrigued by the idea that we were interested in the history of the region. He quickly reeled off a list of locations we should visit. He was obviously enjoying the opportunity to chat with a pair of women. I have to admit that I began to feel a little guilty about the way we were exploiting his obvious loneliness.

"By the by, Mr. Hanshaw, have you run into a pack of tough guys 'round here?" Marie eventually asked. "They'd have shown up in the last few days. Out-of-towners from around Newark. I makes sense that they would have wanted a snoot."

The old man frowned, but nodded immediately. "Oh, yeah. Two of 'em showed up three days back. They both looked like they'd been in a fight. And they also said they had friends. I can't say I liked the look of them, but their money was green. They bought a dozen jars of my hardest stuff."

Then the old man hesitated before going on. "Now, Miss Marie, you and your friend might wanna be careful. Those boys struck me as a bad bunch. I don't wanna mind your business for you, but I wouldn't get too taken by the big money those fellas are throwing around. I don't think it's in their character to treat a woman like a proper lady."

The old fellow seemed genuinely worried for us. Coming from such a ragged character, it was charming.

"We know, sir," I assured him. "We've heard of them. They're creeps."

Mr. Hanshaw looked pleased. "I knew you were good girls," he said with a relieved smile.

"Do you know where they're staying?" Marie asked. "We don't particularly want to run into them."

Mr. Hanshaw responded immediately. "I hear they've renting the old Heinerman place. That's a farmhouse located north of here, near Horseshoe creek. That's another five or six miles up the highway, and about a half-mile to the west. Just stay off of the north highway and you should be fine."

"Thanks, Mr. Hanshaw!" Marie told him with a bright smile.

Actually, the old man's moonshine was pretty good. I ended up buying a half-dozen jars.

* * *

A few miles down the road, we had a road-side conversation with a farm boy who was driving cattle from one pasture to another. He gave us specific directions to the old Heinerman place. He also timidly warned us to stay away. He didn't like the look of the guys who were staying there.

It was becoming clear to me that the local folks had pretty good instincts.

According to the boy, the Heinerman family had died out about twenty years ago. The farm was eventually repossessed by the county for back taxes. The farmland was sold off. A rental company operated by the local bank occasionally rented out the farmhouse.

* * *

The Heinerman farmhouse was located on a low hill, overlooking a creek. It wasn't in the best repair, but looked serviceable. It also had an unobstructed view of the road leading to it. Between the farmhouse and the highway, there was nothing but flat farm fields.

"No way we can get closer without being spotted," Marie told me with a shake of her head.

I nodded as I continued to examine the farmhouse with my binoculars. We'd pulled off the highway and driven part-way down the gravel and dirt road that lead to the farmhouse, but we were keeping our distance.

There were a couple of dark sedans parked in front of the farmhouse. One was in good shape, but the other had a starred windshield and more than a few dents. There was a guy leaning against one of the cars. I didn't see a weapon, but if he had a handgun tucked into his belt, I wouldn't have been able to spot it at that range.

"We're not sneaking up on these guys," I finally sighed.

Marie squinted up at the sun. It was late afternoon. "Normally, I'd say we should approach them at night. But it's some time until sundown. And..."

"...and our gang of vigilantes could be coming down the road any second," I finished for her.

Marie nodded in agreement. Then she glanced at me. "Y'know, that's been bothering me. Watson, Stacy, and Parker don't really strike me as the vigilante type."

I nodded. "Respectable families. Successful careers. And they come from a place where law and order is - more-or-less - the way things work. For Pete's sake, Gwen's dad is a police officer! You're right, it doesn't seem to fit. But people can be hard to figure sometimes. Peter and Gwen grew up with Ben Parker. MJ didn't know Mr. Parker as long as her friends, but she might just be following their lead."

"Yeah," Marie agreed, "but here's another thing. What the heck is up with those three? I mean... if Gwen and MJ are a couple, where exactly does Peter fit in?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I'm not sure. Maybe Peter dated Gwen and MJ when they were younger? And once the two ladies took a different turn in their lives, Peter stayed friendly with them?"

Marie shook her head. "Those weren't just friendly kisses we saw outside of Gwen's apartment. They also didn't look like 'once upon a time we were close'. Whatever is going on with those three is right here and now."

I had to admit that Marie had a point. "So there's more to Peter than is visible to the eye? They're his two girls and he's somehow keeping them both happy at the same time? Or it could be that they're a threesome. It's rare, but I've seen it happen."

"Yeah..." Marie said uncertainly, "but just look at them! As a group, the three of them just don't seem to fit. Peter's pretty ordinary, Gwen is a real cutey, and MJ is gorgeous. Parker is a scientist and a bookworm who only seems to be at home in the lab. Gwen and MJ are high-profile performers who hobnob with the rich and beautiful. MJ is well on her way to being world famous. Gwen is locally known. Nobody has heard of Parker outside of his specialty - or probably ever will. MJ is rich, Gwen is well-off, and while Parker probably makes decent money, I don't think he's on the same scale as the girls - particularly MJ."

"Yeah, it doesn't sound like it would work."

"And then there's what Josh told us," Marie added. "Gwen and MJ are some sort of powered, but they aren't mutants. Is it possible that Peter is too?"

"That could be what's holding them together," I said slowly. "That makes a lot of sense."

Marie nodded in agreement. Then she gave the distant farmhouse a frustrated look. "Okay, we have to get this over with, but we can't surprise the bad guys. So what do we do?"

I opened my purse - I hate the damn things - pulled out my .45, and chambered a round. Then I put the weapon back in my purse. However, I didn't close the purse. Then I tapped my forearm and thigh, making sure that my backup weapons were in place and ready to go.

"Damsels in distress?" Marie asked as she took her revolver out of her purse, opened the cylinder, put a loose round into the only empty chamber - the one she normally kept underneath the revolver's hammer - and then closed the cylinder. Then she leaned into the car and put her weapon on the seat bench, in between the driver and passenger positions.

"Damsels in distress," I agreed.

Marie unbuttoned the top few buttons of her dress. She was showing a lot of cleavage and even a trace of her bra. Then she got behind the wheel and pulled the side of her skirt over her revolver.

* * *

As big as brass, we drove right up to the farmhouse. Marie was driving. I was in the passenger's seat, trying to keep a particularly clueless expression on my face.

The guy in front of the house stirred when he saw us approach. Then he turned his head and called into the house. After a second, the front door opened. I could see a form standing inside the doorway, but couldn't make out any details. A window curtain also flicked to the side, and then closed.

At least three, I thought to myself. I was willing to bet that there was more.

The guy in front picked up the jacket that was sitting on the hood of the car next to him. He held it draped over his left forearm, almost certainly concealing a gun in his belt. He could get to it with a right-handed cross-draw.

Marie pulled the car into a ninety degree turn and rolled down her window. There was a light headwind that kept the dust we'd kicked up from rolling over us.

"Hey!" she called to the sentry, "we're lost! Could you give us some directions?"

The guy in front of the house blinked in surprise when he saw Marie. Then a wolfish smile came over his homely face. I noticed that he had a nasty split lip and a bandage on the side of his face.

I put my hand in my purse.

The gangster came closer. Once he was close enough, his eyes focused on Marie's cleavage. By that time, he was completely distracted and paying absolutely no attention to me. I could have been manning a heavy machine gun where I was sitting and he wouldn't have noticed me.

Still smiling, the gangster put his hands on the edge of the driver's side window.

Then Marie put one of her hands over his.

The gangster stiffened, his entire body going rigid as Marie's power knocked him silly. Then Marie grabbed him by his belt and pulled him towards her, pinning him against the body of the car.

"Hey!" Marie yelped. "Keep your hands to yourself!"

Anybody inside the farmhouse couldn't really see what was happening. At a quick glance, it looked like their friend was trying to dry-hump our car.

"Dammit!" the guy inside the door yelled. Then he stepped out onto the porch. He had a Tommy gun in his hands. He also had a bandage around his head and an impressive black eye.

"Dave! Cut it out!" he yelled at his supposedly misbehaving friend. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Help!" Marie screamed. I opened the door and got out, a horrified expression on my face as I yelled, "Cut it out you creep!"

Holding the Tommy gun in one hand, the gunner on the porch ran over to his buddy, grabbed him by the collar and yanked backwards. Marie let go of the now-unconscious Dave and he flew backwards. Our rescuer was surprised by the lack of resistance and stumbled a couple of steps back towards the farmhouse.

He was even more surprised when he found himself looking down the big barrel of Marie's handgun.

"Put the gun down," Marie said very flatly.

The gunner didn't drop his weapon, but he was keeping it in a carefully neutral position in his off hand. That was a dangerous decision on his part. It's not a good idea to be merciful to people with automatic weapons.

And there was something else. He was carefully examining our faces. He was looking for something.

I had my .45 focused on the window where I'd previously seen motion. The curtain flicked open again and I put a pair of shots through the glass. There was a shout from inside, but it didn't sound like I'd hit whoever had yelled. People who've been shot are a lot more whiny.

I wasn't paying attention to the Tommy gunner. If he had reacted to my shots and lifted his weapon, Marie would have been forced to cut him down. Instead, he did nothing - and got to live.

Actually, I was kinda hoping that Marie would just shoot him.

"How many?" I asked Marie as I kept my eyes on the house.

"Two more inside," Marie replied. She'd gotten a peek into the mind of the guy she knocked out with her power. She knew what he knew.

"C'mon out!" I yelled. "Hand's up and no weapons!"

"Rocco?" someone called from inside. He sounded scared.

"Is it them?" another voice added. He sounded even more scared than the other guy.

Rocco was apparently the guy with the Tommy gun.

"Who are you?" Rocco asked tensely. I didn't like the sound of that. We had him dead to rights, but there was a desperation about him. It was the kind of thing that could make a man decide that he would fight even when the odds were stacked way against him. I could see him suddenly lifting his gun, praying that maybe he'd be faster than Marie. I was willing to bet that particular prayer wouldn't be answered.

"Private eyes," I told him.

"And - even more important - we're the guys pointing guns at you," Marie added irritably. "Put that damned Chicago piano down!"

"Give it up and nobody gets hurt," I told him. "But if we start throwing lead, all bets are off. And you'll die first."

Rocco seemed uncertain. Now he was staring at me.

I tried again. "We aren't cops. We don't care about you guys. We don't care about the bank job. We just want your boss."

Rocco made a decision. Then he leaned over and put his Tommy gun on the ground.

"It's not them," Rocco called back into the house. "Come on out. No funny stuff."

"Oh, thank Mary, Joseph, and Jesus," came the first voice from inside. He sounded infinitely relieved.

Two more gangsters came out of the house. They had their hands up. Like the other two, the new guys were battered and bruised.

Their boss - the man who had killed Ben Parker - wasn't with them.

* * *

We had all four of our prisoners hand-cuffed. Three of them were sitting on the porch, the one Marie had knocked out was laying on his stomach. He was still out cold.

Marie flicked a fingernail against Rocco's nose. He grimaced.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Marie yelled at him angrily. "I was about to kill you! Was it some stupid guy thing!? You weren't going to let a girl tell you what to do!?"

With my hand on my heart, I swear that Rocco checked out Marie's rack before he answered.

"Things have been weird lately," he grumbled at Marie.

Then he glanced at me. "You're not cops. Maybe we can make a deal? All we wanna do is walk."

I ignored him as I looked at Marie. "Where's their boss?"

Marie shrugged. "In town. He's supposed to be lining up another bank job. He and these four are all that's left of the gang. They lost a lot of guys in Jersey City, and some more ran away after they got here."

"What happened to them back in Jersey City?"

"It was weird," Rocco growled mostly to himself.

Marie shrugged again and nodded to the guy she'd knocked out. "He went down early in the fight and didn't see much. And the other guys wouldn't talk about it."

"Fucking weird," Rocco whispered. He eyes were blankly staring off into the distance.

One of the gangsters who'd been inside the house began to cry. After a few seconds, the other guy began laughing. It didn't sound like a particularly healthy laugh.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" I demanded.

Rocco's gaze snapped back to the here and now and he looked up at me.

"Spiders," he told me. His eyes were back to being blank again.

Marie and I looked at each.

"Spiders," Rocco repeated for no particular reason.

"And it was weird," he finished.

* * *

We had to get back to tracking the boss, and we really didn't have the time to babysit Rocco and his friends. We couldn't even give them to the cops. The police wouldn't just let us drop them off and walk away. They'd want explanations.

Shooting the gangsters in the head, while efficient, didn't really strike me as an acceptable option.

By then, the guy who had been crying was now laughing softly to himself. The guy who had been laughing had broke down into tears. It was getting harder and harder to see these guys as any kind of threat to anybody.

"Here's the deal," I told Rocco. "I saw a rural bus-stop at a crossroads about two miles down the highway. We'll drop the four of you there with twenty bucks and the clothes on your backs. No guns, knives, or any other weapons - and we're going to disable your cars. If you take the first bus to anywhere but here, then I won't mention to the state patrol that maybe they can trace you from that bus-stop. If I you show up back in Lee's Crossing, I'll blow your brains out. Particularly you, Rocco. You have a bad habit of not doing as you're told."

"Deal," Rocco said without hesitation. "This job isn't really working out."

* * *

We uncuffed Rocco and the boys and left them at the bus-stop. In the process, I made some threats about how I would track them down and deal with them if I ever heard that they were back in the crime racket. I didn't really have a lot of hope that any of them would go straight, but something had scared the living hell out of them. So it was worth a try. Maybe they were actually ready to do something honest for a living.

There was about a thousand bucks of neatly bundled money in the trunk. It was most of the loot from the Neptune City bank job. I'd eventually figure out a way to get it back to the bank. A lot of people will tell you that bankers are the biggest crooks of all. They might have a point, but the money in the banks belongs to ordinary people.

"Why didn't you shoot Rocco?" I asked Marie as we drove away. Glancing into the rear-view mirror, I could see the four gangsters standing mournfully by the side of the road.

"The guy I knocked out thought a lot of Rocco," she answered. "He saw him as a big brother, rather than just another guy in the gang. Rocco's really been carrying them since whatever happened in Jersey City. Since then, the boss was just planning jobs, giving orders, and breaking heads if anyone even looked at him sideways. He's crazy about having lost his territory and is getting meaner and more dangerous by the day. Everyone's been getting more and more scared of him, and a few of the guys who came here with him took off because of that. The only reason my guy didn't run away is because he wouldn't leave Rocco behind."

It's a problem when the people you're pointing guns at become people instead of targets.

"Next time we're in a situation like that - just shoot," I told Marie softly. The thought of losing her will always haunt me. I let Marie out from behind her desk and took her out onto the streets with me. If something ever happens to her while we we're working a case, it will be my fault.

Marie nodded, but I knew she would still do whatever she thought was right.

* * *

Marie had a nice clear memory of the gang-boss and his car. The guy she'd knocked out had seen the boss just that morning, right before he got into his car and drove to town. Fortunately for us, the boss was a bit of a clothes-horse - not an uncommon thing for a street thug who'd ascended to the rank of head creep. He was wearing a pricey suit and expensive shoes. That sort of thing would stand out in Lee's Crossing.

So we fell back to old fashioned shoe-leather work. Marie and I went around the downtown of Lee's Crossing, asking if anyone had seen our friend. Our "friend", of course, matched the description of Ben Parker's murderer - the man going by the name of Dennis Carradine. While doing so, we kept an eye out for MJ and her friends.

It was after sundown when we finally got lucky.

"Yeah, I saw him," a guy selling hot-dogs out of a cart told us. Because of the hour, he was in the process of closing down his cart.

"A guy dressed like that walked into that hotel just across the street. He had the slicky hair you mentioned, too. It was just a few minutes ago."

Marie frowned. I felt the same way. Why was our guy going into a hotel? He had a rented house just outside of town.

The hot-dog salesman noticed our skepticism. "He had a gal with him," he added with a sly smile.

Something clicked. A resigned look came over Marie's face

"Redhead or blonde?" I asked.

"Redhead," the hot-dog salesman said. "A real looker. You know, she reminded me a little of that actress... what's her name? Walker? Watson?"

* * *

I cost us a few bucks to get the hotel clerk to give us the room number. It was on the fourth floor - which was also the top floor of the hotel. The hotel didn't have an elevator, so Marie and I hoofed it up the stairs.

At the door, we paused and pulled out our guns. Inside, I heard something move. Then there was a scraping sound - I recognized it as a window being opened.

I carefully tested the doorknob. The door wasn't locked.

Then I threw open the door...

* * *

Our car was parked in an alleyway.

My hands were shaking as I opened the trunk of the car and pulled out one of the jars of 'shine I'd bought from Mr. Hanshaw. After unscrewing the lid, I took a long and burning slug from the jar. Then I handed the jar to Marie and she did the same. It seemed to calm her trembling.

We then proceeded to kill most of the jar. All the while, we were nervously scanning the roofs and walls of the surrounding buildings. We also had our weapons in hand, which is not the smartest thing to do when you're gulping down raw whiskey, but there was no way we could leave ourselves defenseless.

Then Jessica Jones came around the corner. A streetlight illuminated her as she stood in the mouth of the alleyway. She had her hands open and her arms out from her sides to show that she was unarmed.

"Dom? Is that you?" she called out.

"Hey, Jess," I called back.

Jones walked towards us. When she got closer, I could see that her eyes were haunted. I could make a really good guess what she'd seen that had put her in that condition.

"Oh, thank God," she said in obvious relief when she saw the jar of 'shine in my hand. "Can I have some of that?"

I offered her the jar. There are times when it simply isn't right to deny someone a drink.

* * *

An hour later, we were still in the alley. We'd found various things to sit on that were more or less clean as we passed the jar around.

We hadn't really said anything to each other. We just drank steadily. The first jar was long gone. We were working on the second.

"I didn'a know wha' I was get'n myself into," Jones slurred. She was holding her head in her hands.

"Tell me 'bout it," I replied blurrily.

Marie looked at us both, then she gently took the jar of moonshine from me and screwed the lid back on. It's scary how well Marie can handle her liquor.

"Let's get something to eat," she said quietly.

Jones and I didn't argue. We got to our feet and stumbled our way down the alley. There was a restaurant just around the corner.

* * *

Two hours later, we were still in the restaurant. The food was mediocre, but the coffee was decent. Between us, we drank something like a gallon. Jones and I were still drunk, but at least by then it wasn't obvious.

It was actually after closing time. The waitress had dropped a pointed hint just a moment before.

Conversations between private investigators can get strange sometimes. Especially if they're both working on parallel cases. We have a professional responsibility to keep the interests of our clients secret and, as a result, there's only so much that we can say to each other.

For example: Jones couldn't ask - and we couldn't reveal - who we were working for. On the other hand, we pretty much knew who Jones was working for, but it would be rude to admit it, or to ask for more information.

However, all three of us had something on our mind. And we all pretty much knew what it was. There were only one reason to be wandering aimlessly around Lee's Crossing, looking and acting like shell-shocked riflemen from the Great War.

"What did you see?" Jones eventually asked. It was the question both sides had been working up the nerve to ask for quite some time. I give Jones credit for getting there first.

I let out a long breath before replying. "We were tracking this guy. We found him in a hotel and opened the door to his room. And there was a... a... thing in the room. It was dragging the guy we were following out the window."

"He was paralyzed or something," Marie added softly.

"He couldn't seem to move or say anything," I continued, "but his eyes were looking at us. He wanted us to help him."

"But you didn't help," Jones said quietly.

I shook my head. "No. We were... startled. By the time we got over that, the guy and the... the... thing who'd grabbed him were out the window."

"There was another of those things outside," Marie said. She was picking at her second piece of pie with a fork. "It was on the wall outside. It helped haul the guy out the window."

"How about you?" I asked.

Jones finished the dregs of her coffee. "My job here was done. I'd tracked down the suspect I'd been hired to find. The... the... people I was working with said I should leave, but something was bothering me. I just wasn't sure what they wanted the suspect for. It occurred to me that they might have something violent in mind. I mean, none of them looked exactly dangerous, but you never know."

Then Jones paused before continuing. "So I stuck around and followed them. And it turned out I was right. I saw..."

Jones stopped again. She couldn't seem to go on.

Eventually, she forced herself to say something, but her voice was now a whisper. Marie and I had to strain to hear her.

"Two of the people I'd been working with climbed up onto a rooftop. And I don't mean they used a ladder or anything, they just climbed straight up the wall with their fingers and toes. I circled the building and found a fire-escape on the other side. I used it to get up there, and then peeked over the edge of the roof. They were still on the roof, but they'd taken off their clothes and they were... changing. They were changing into something else. When they were done, they weren't people anymore."

"Then they took off over the rooftops - all of those legs moving in a kind of smooth and regular sequence as they climbed and crawled. Eventually they ended up on the wall of the hotel. Then a third one pushed somebody out of one of the hotel's window. The two outside caught him. After that, the three of them just skittered off, carrying that poor bastard with them. I lost them in the darkness."

Jones rubbed her eyes. "I had my gun out and I thought about getting involved. Maybe I should have. But I decided it wouldn't be a good idea."

"I saw you guys through the hotel window, standing in the hotel room with your guns in your hands. That's how I knew you were in town, Domino."

I figured I could afford to tell Jones something that would at least help her sleep better at night. "The guy your clients carried off was a murderer," I said to her. "Whatever's happened to him, I won't say that he had it coming, but he wasn't exactly an innocent victim."

Jones considered what I'd just said. You could see her making connections in her head.

"Wait," she said eventually. "Is he the guy that murdered Benjamin Parker?"

I apparently wasn't the only PI who checked up on his clients.

I nodded.

Jones didn't exactly look relieved, but it did seem as if some of the weight on her shoulders had been lifted.

* * *

After we left the restaurant, we said our goodbyes to Jones. Then she headed off down the street.

There was no way Marie and I could stay in Lee's Crossing. So we drove twenty miles to the next town, parked our car, and slept in the back. It was psychologically impossible for us to get a hotel room. It would have brought up too many recent memories.

That night, I had strange nightmares filled with eight-legged monsters tracking me through labyrinthine streets and alleys. They spun webs and crawled up and down walls, their mandibles working eagerly as they pursued me.

So Marie and I slept poorly, and I had a terrible hangover the next morning. Marie drove us the rest of the way home.

When we got back, I told Marie I had something to take care of. I said she and Sooraya should man the office until I got back.

Then I drove out to MJ Watson's place. I'm not sure if I wanted her to be home or not, but I knew that I had to see the case through to end.

It turned out that MJ was home.

* * *

A handsome Mexican woman in her middle years answered the door. She patiently heard out my request to see the lady of the house, was perhaps a bit over-impressed when I flashed her my PI license, and then invited me inside.

Mary Jane Watson was on the back patio, sitting in a cane chair as she read a copy of "Variety". She was dressed in silk pajamas and her hair was done up in a towel - she'd apparently just got out of the bath. The patio itself was elegantly designed and surrounded by flower gardens and decorative stonework. I found myself approving of MJ's taste.

This was the first time I'd met MJ face-to-face. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, but she was more than that. This town is full of pretty ladies, but she was something special. Even knowing what I knew about her, I felt the pull of her attraction. Any man - or woman - in her life would have truly hit the jackpot.

Then I introduced myself all over again.

"I'm working on a case, Miss Watson" I told her. "It involves you. I was hoping we could talk."

"Please, call me MJ," she said as she gestured towards another chair. "What's this case you're working on?"

After I'd settled into the chair, I began explaining. "I can't say who hired me, but they're worried about your safety, and I can assure you that they have your best interests in mind. They're of the opinion that you might be in some kind of trouble. They feel that way because of your recent injuries and the problems you've been having at work. They just want to know if everything is okay."

MJ put what she was reading on a nearby table. Then she gave me a long and close look. She obviously didn't like what she was hearing, but she was still willing to talk.

"Your client has the wrong idea," MJ told me. "I took a fall from a horse and that's how I was hurt. Then my doctor prescribed some pain medication that was too strong for me. It knocked me for a loop that made me miss some shoots. Now that I'm feeling better, shooting starts again tomorrow. You can tell your client that I'm fine."

I nodded. "I'm glad to hear that, and I'll be sure to tell my client. But tell me, have you ever heard of a man named Dennis Carradine?"

After I dropped that particular bombshell, MJ Watson was very still for a moment. But she didn't look at all scared. And I could see something dangerous in her eyes.

My right hand appeared to be idly dangling from the arm-rest of my chair, just above my lap. If I needed to, I could draw my .45 in a split-second. Actually, I was reasonably sure that I was safe. Our conversation was at the point where MJ wanted to know what I knew. And whatever MJ Watson really was, I don't think she want to be too public about it.

"Who is he?" MJ eventually asked.

"In the course of my investigation, his name came up. I think he's the man who killed Benjamin Parker. And I understand you're friends with the Parker family."

"Have you told the police?" MJ asked me reasonably.

I shook my head. "My source isn't the most reliable in the world. And besides, Mr. Carradine is missing."

"Missing?" MJ asked with a raised eyebrow.

"He was the boss of small criminal gang in Jersey City, but his gang was recently thrown out of town. Carradine got separated from the other men in his gang. Nobody knows where he is."

There was a ghost of a smile on MJ's face. "That's interesting, but I'm not sure how I can help you, Domino. I really think the best thing you could do is go to the police."

"I can't do that," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because I've been hired to see to your interests. I don't want to get you - or your friends - in any kind of trouble."

MJ leaned forward, her posture seemingly relaxed. But she was nothing of the sort.

"How would going to the police get me in trouble?"

"You have motive in his disappearance. So do Gwen Stacy and Peter Parker."

MJ gave me a smile that had a definitely predatory element to it. "Is this some kind of shakedown, Domino?"

I shook my head. "I'm not trying to blackmail you. But it would be best if Carradine appeared again - alive and uninjured. If that happened, I could make a case against him for the murder of Ben Parker and hand it over to the New York Police Department. As a murderer, he'd face capital punishment."

For a long moment, MJ stared into my eyes. I did my best to meet her gaze, but that wasn't easy. I knew what was lurking behind those lovely eyes.

"I'll keep what you've said in mind," MJ told me patiently.

* * *

That evening, Marie and I met with Duke. Of course, we couldn't tell him all of the truth, but we could give him the more sane-sounding basics. Frankly, I'm not sure if we could have told him the real story. How could he possibly believe us? I was having problem believing it.

"So this Carradine fellow is out of the picture?" Duke asked. Something about the look in his eyes suggested that if Carradine was still a problem, Duke might be inclined settle that himself.

We were sitting in a speak-easy not too far from Wayne's home.

"I don't think he's any kind of threat," I replied.

Duke nodded slowly. "Do you think he's dead?"

Marie and I looked at one another.

"Probably," I told Duke.

"MJ and her friends are in the clear?" That seemed to be what was most important to him. I don't think I'll ever like Duke as much as Marie did, but there were things about him that I could respect.

"Anyone who knows anything isn't inclined to talk about it," I assured him.

Duke nodded and pulled out a checkbook out of his jacket. "What do I owe you?"

I named a number. It wasn't anywhere near what I would have charged Tony Stark.

* * *

I wish that was the end of it, but sometimes cases don't end cleanly. Sometimes they sputter and lurch onward - even after the client has paid you off and you're no longer actively involved. And sometimes they continue when you wish they would just go away.

A few weeks later, Marie and I were at Remy's. We were sitting at a small table in the back. Lucy wasn't working that night, so the tattered remains of our respective virtues were safe. Actually, I found myself regretting that. If nothing else, any encounter with Lucy was guaranteed to be memorable.

"Where's Lucy?" I asked the waiter as soon as he delivered our drinks.

"New York," he said absently. "She took a week off to visit a friend."

Marie and I exchanged glances. We both silently wished the unlikely duo of Lucy and Captain Stacy the best.

Then Gwen Stacy walked onto the main stage. We'd somehow missed the fact that she was performing that night.

"Shit," Marie muttered. Then she emptied her drink and waved for another.

Gwen said a few words to the crowd, and then started singing. She was as good as I remembered. Looking around, I finally noticed that MJ and Peter Parker were sitting at one of the tables closer to the main stage. They seemed delighted to see their friend perform.

Marie spotted them too. Then she gave me a questioning look. "Should we get out of here?"

She had a point, but...

"It's never a good idea to give some critters the idea that you're running away," I told her.

Marie thought about that and then nodded.

So we tried to relax as best we could as Gwen worked her way through a series of popular songs.

Eventually, MJ appeared at our table. As MJ sat down, Marie reached under the table, took my hand in hers, and gripped tight.

"How's it going, Domino?" MJ asked. As she spoke, her eyes casually wandered over Marie. Judging from the look on her face, MJ liked what she was seeing.

"I'm fine," I said a little stiffly. "How are things with you, MJ? I hear your career is back on track."

"Yeah, that sorted itself out. So... about that Carradine thing. I want to tell you something."

"What?" I asked.

"Carradine isn't going to reappear. I thought you should know, just in case you were still worried about it."

I took a moment to empty my shot glass. The whiskey burned its way down my throat.

"Too bad," I replied blandly.

MJ shrugged. "Not really. He was a creep and he hurt a lot of people who mean something to me."

I found myself nodding in agreement. I can't say I cared the slightest about Carradine. In my time, I've also circumvented the legal system in order to get what some would call justice, but others would call vengeance. In fact, I've killed a lot more than one man for that reason.

So I had no urge to pronounce judgement on MJ and her friends. Back when I suggested they let Carradine go, I was just trying to find a path for them that would put them in the least danger. After all, that was in the interests of our client.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing tell me the name of your client?" MJ asked.

Marie and I shook our heads.

MJ shrugged. "Okay, I know that's a matter of professionalism, so I won't press the point."

Up on stage, Gwen finished a slow song about lost love and switched to something more... playful.

_"Itsy bitsy spider, went up the water spout..."_

The audience chuckled in amusement. I glanced towards Gwen. She was looking right at us. At the table below her, Parker was also looking in our direction. Light was glinting from his glasses and concealing his eyes. The reason for this encounter was obvious. We were being warned to stay away.

As if we needed the warning.

"We spotted you at that hotel in Lee's Crossing," MJ said idly. One of her red-tipped fingers was tracing a wet ring on the surface of our table. "You saw us. Maybe it would be best if you forgot what you saw."

Marie let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Sugar, I pray to God every night that I'll forget what I saw."

That made MJ hesitate.

"Tiger, I've done some praying of my own," she eventually told Marie. "It hasn't worked yet."

Then MJ got to her feet and turned away. She was obviously done with us.

"What happened to Carradine?" Marie asked suddenly.

MJ looked over her shoulder at me, an amused look on her face. Then she said something I'll spend the rest of my life trying to pretend I never heard.

"Gwen and I laid our eggs in him," MJ told us.

Then she walked away.


	11. The Case of the Man Who Never Was

THE CASE OF THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS

"You come highly recommended," our latest client said.

She was a very tall woman - at least six foot tall in her bare feet. She was even taller in a pair of high-heels. She was wearing a long green dress and a black hat that featured an eccentric halo of dark spikes. Her face was both beautiful and icy cold.

I didn't know her name. At least not yet.

Every now and then, a client doesn't want to meet at the office. There can be good reasons for that and I try to be accommodating. So when a man with a vaguely German-like accent phoned and asked me to meet someone he described as 'the mistress', I accepted before asking where she wanted to meet.

That might have been a mistake. The restaurant where we finally met was one of the most expensive in town. The menu didn't have any prices, because if you had to ask then you shouldn't be eating there. I figured I would order something small. Domino Investigations wasn't as broke as it used to be. In fact, we'd been doing pretty well for the last couple of years. However, I could still remember the lean times. I only splurge when I'm buying guns or lingerie.

The guns are for me. The lingerie is for Marie.

"Who recommended us?" I asked. That sort of thing can tell you a lot about a client.

"Bjorn Svenson," the client replied as she picked up the menu.

I think I blinked in surprise. "Bjorn? He's been dead for years."

The client scanned the menu. "Eight years, actually. After what you people call the Great War, Bjorn tried to return to the life he had before. However, the war stirred something within him. Eventually, he went abroad again. He fell in with some like-minded men who also had not yet had their fill with fighting and killing. They became mercenaries and reavers. The blood of Bjorn Svenson's ancestors ran strong in him and he came to enjoy a life of pillage and slaughter. He eventually met his end on the docks of a city called Alexandria. Bjorn and his comrades found themselves in battle with the local lord. As is so often the case, some common folk were caught in the middle. With a single sweep of one of your modern machine-weapons, Bjorn killed a mother and her children just to block an alley down which he was being pursued. And yet that was to no avail - he was shot in the back as he tried to flee."

"All in all, not a glorious death," the client finished off-handedly. She was still looking at the menu.

I gave my client a long, hard, look. "I never heard the details of how Bjorn died," I told her.

The client shrugged and put down her menu. "It is the truth and often the truth can be hard. Your decision to share your bed with him is nothing to be ashamed off, he was a handsome and virile man, but he had a darkness within him. Eventually, it consumed him."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Even weirder, Bjorn was dead years before I became a private investigator. How the hell could he have recommended me?

And just how did the client know that Bjorn and I used to knock boots?

An unctuous waiter appeared next to our table. "Ladies, are you ready to order?"

The client glanced at me. "I will have the mushroom soup and a slice of the beef that you call a 'steak'. My servant here will have the same."

So much for ordering something small. And I didn't really like being called a servant. And ordering for someone else at a restaurant is a bit peculiar. It's an older custom that I've seen elderly men do when they're with family members or a woman. In fact, I know one old-fashioned guy who does it all the time. His name is Lensherr.

I had to give the waiter credit. He didn't even blink. "And how do you want your steak, madam?"

The client frowned. "On a platter will be sufficient."

Again, the waiter rolled with it. "Pardon me, madam. I was perhaps not clear. How would you like your steak cooked?"

"I'll have mine raw," the client answered. "However, I think it would be best if you charred my servant's meat. Your cook may decide what is sufficient."

The waiter glanced at me. I just shrugged and said, "Rare."

Then the waiter quietly vanished.

"What's your name?" I asked bluntly. I was getting more than a little fed up.

"Call me Hela," my client said.

I nodded my head politely. "And how can Domino Investigations help you, Miss Hela? Or is it Mrs. Hela?"

"Address me as Hela," she said very flatly. "I need no honorifics."

Okay, the client was maybe nuts. I considered getting up and walking away.

But... by then I was curious. That's an occupational hazard when you're a PI.

"How can I help you, Hela?" I rephrased carefully.

"There is a man I want you to find. He is a healer among your kind. I understand he is known as Donald Blake and that he resides in this city. Learn what you can about him and then report back to me."

* * *

It was after business hours. I went straight back to the apartment I share with Marie. Then I described to her the meeting with Hela.

"This sounds like a weird case," Marie said with a frown.

Marie is my partner and girlfriend. She's a knockout with a full-figured and long-legged body that's the stuff dreams are made of. Her eyes are green and her dark-auburn hair has a spectacular white streak down the middle. Her smile is so breathtaking that it's been known to make me completely lose track of what I was saying or doing.

"I won't argue with that," I admitted. "I figure the client is some sort of European nobility. Her English is pretty good, but there's a bit of an accent. And the way she talks and acts... it's like she's from another world."

"Are you sure about taking this case?" Marie asked. She was obviously worried. "I mean... yeah, we trace people all the time, but the client sounds like trouble waiting to happen. What's she paying us?"

I pulled a small silk bag out of my jacket and pulled loose the drawstring that held it closed. Then I dumped the contents onto the table where we were sitting.

Marie frowned at what looked like a pile of glittery stones.

"What's this?" she asked.

There was a glass of whiskey in front of me. I picked up one of the larger stones and used it to scratch a deep score into the glass.

"Raw diamonds," I told Marie. "The client says we'll get this many more once we give her our report."

Marie let out a long, low, whistle.

* * *

Rule number one of being a private investigator is to check out your client. However, we drew a blank on Hela.

"Nothing?" I asked slowly.

Marie and Sooraya - she's our Afghani secretary - both looked embarrassed.

"Nothing much," Marie corrected. "Hela showed up without a reservation at the Carlton Hotel yesterday afternoon. She then checked into the Presidential suite. The guy already in the suite was a big-shot banker from London. He apparently left at Hela's request after meeting her. She barely has any luggage, but has about a half-dozen servants who all seem to be men and women from Norway or Sweden or somewhere like that. As near as we can tell, the only thing she's done while in town is her meeting with you last night. There's no record of how she arrived in town. She doesn't have a car garaged at the hotel or anywhere nearby, and I can't find anyone who saw her either at the train station or on the docks. So far, she's paid her bills in raw gems and gold nuggets. That was a problem until people realized how much money is actually involved. When she deals with hotel employees, she always speaks to them in their birth language. So far, she seems to be fluent in English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish. She says a lot of strange things and - like you - everyone figures she's half-crazy nobility from some backward part of Europe."

Then Sooraya took over. "I can find no reference to the name 'Hela' in any of the social registries or compendiums of important families. I think it's reasonable to assume that it is not really her name. I've put feelers out among the local journalists to see if anyone knows her by description. I also asked some questions among our contacts on embassy row, but nobody there seems to know her."

"It's like she appeared yesterday from out of nowhere," Marie added grimly. "I think she might be running some kind of con."

"A con-artist who hands out diamonds and gold?" I asked.

Marie shook her head irritably. "I don't claim to know what kind of game she's playing, but nobody on the up-and-up leaves absolutely no trail behind them."

I couldn't argue with that.

"What about Dr. Blake?" Sooraya asked me.

That was my cue. "Dr. Donald Blake is from a small town in Minnesota called Northfield. I couldn't find much of anything about Blake's family - not even his mother and father. Blake moved here six years ago to attend college, and then medical school, at State University. After Blake graduated as a sawbones, he did his residency at Saint Bethany's here in town. Then he went to work for a church-funded clinic that gives medical help to the poor."

"That's admirable," Sooraya said with an approving smile. I had to agree.

"People describe Blake as a big, adorable, hunk of a guy. He has a limp and uses a cane, but he was like that when he first showed up in town and nobody knows how that happened. When you get down to it, he doesn't seem to have much of a social life. And he's the kind of man who doesn't talk about himself."

"That's not much," Marie said thoughtfully, "but he's sounds like a guy with secrets."

I nodded. "The two most important people in our case do have hazy pasts."

"Any idea why Hela wants the skinny on Don Blake?" Marie asked me.

I shrugged. "Not a clue. Not yet."

Marie sighed.

"But Blake is in the phone book," I added. "So's the place where he works."

"No way it's going to be that easy," Marie told me with a shake of her head.

She was right.

* * *

Dr. Blake had a room in a brownstone on the western edge of downtown. His apartment wasn't that far from the clinic where he worked. Given the time of day, Blake wasn't likely to be home. So Marie and I decided to check out the clinic.

Getting out of the car, I took a few seconds to look around.

"It's been a while," I told Marie.

"This is your old neighborhood, isn't it?" Marie asked.

I guess there was a smile on my face as I nodded. "Mom and I moved to town when I was just a kid. We lived not too far from here in a walk-up apartment. The place didn't have hot water. Mom used to heat water on the stove in a big pot and we'd wash with that."

I wasn't trying to impress Marie with my tough upbringing. After all, when she was a kid her morning bath took place in an offshoot of the Mississippi. My memories of me, mom, and that tiny apartment aren't something I regret. Mom and I were together and that was what mattered.

Mom's been gone for quite some time. As we walked across the street, I felt that old pang of sadness. It's the natural order of things to lose your parents, and that's a pain that everyone who lives long enough will eventually carry with them. It's another of those things that ultimately puts us all on the same level.

The clinic was crowded with desperate people. The staff - nurses and doctors both - looked harried as they tried to quickly and efficiently deal with too many patients. Marie and I both looked way out of place. For one thing, we were too well dressed.

The nurse who met us at the reception desk gave us a hard look. I imagine the clinic had a free-loader problem. We looked a bit too prosperous for a clinic that was intended to help the poor.

"What seems to be the problem?" she asked.

I scanned the reception room. Mostly it consisted of frightened and worried-looking families. There were a lot of children present, and all too often they seemed to be the focus of each family's problem. A few lone men - a combination of half-drunk brawlers and guys with work injuries - were interspersed throughout the crowd.

There was a lot of crying.

A lone doctor stood out - literally. He was a good head taller than anyone else in the room. He had blond hair, blue eyes, a powerful build, and he was leaning heavily on a surprisingly crude-looking cane as he reassured a distraught mother.

"Let me guess," Marie asked the nurse. "There's no way Dr. Blake can get free for just a moment?"

The nurse snorted. Then she made a gesture with her hands that encompassed the chaos around her.

Marie glanced at me. I nodded. Without another word, we left.

* * *

"Well, if we have to tail him, Blake will be hard to lose," Marie said to me with an wry shrug.

"He's big as a house and pretty easy on the eyes," I agreed.

We were on the opposite side of the street from the clinic, not too far from where the car was parked. This part of the neighborhood was filled with small store-fronts. We were standing in front of disreputable-looking Chinese pharmacy. Even when I was a kid, I knew there was something shady about the place. Judging from the furtive and slightly desperate look of the customers walking in and out, it seemed likely that the primary drug being peddled was still opium.

Marie nodded towards a diner that I vaguely remembered. It was located between the clinic and where Blake lived. If the good doctor were to walk straight home from the clinic, he'd pass right by.

I checked my wristwatch. It was just after four.

"He should get off in an hour or two," I said doubtfully. Given the crowd in the clinic, I wasn't sure if I really believed that.

"It's worth a try," Marie agreed hesitantly. Apparently she had the same doubts.

* * *

Actually, the food in the diner wasn't bad. And that gave me an idea as Marie and I dawdled over cups of coffee as we kept an eye on the clinic. The diner was probably the best place to eat in the area, and it wasn't located too far from where Blake both lived and worked. He might be a regular.

"Say," I said to our waitress as she refilled our cups. She was a pretty little slip of a girl with brown hair and eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know a doctor from the clinic? His name is Blake."

She instantly smiled. "Doc Blake? Sure - he's in here all the time."

"He's a handsome fellow," Marie added with a knowing smile.

The waitress chuckled. "Tell me about it! But he's seeing one of the nurses at the clinic and she watches him like a hawk. I can't say I blame her."

"So what's he like?" Marie continued, her voice dropping slightly. She was doing a great job of making the conversation seem like harmless girl-talk.

"Polite and a good tipper," the waitress said as her smile turned into a grin. "What more can a waitress ask for?"

Then the waitress gave us a speculative look. "What's your interest?"

"I heard he might need some secretarial help," Marie lied smoothly.

That seemed to dispel any doubts that the waitress was having about us. The Depression made job-hunting a top priority for a lot of people. Even if you had a job, you were still worried that it might vanish and you'd suddenly find yourself scrambling for your next meal. And a lot of people were working two or more jobs in order to make ends meet.

"I tried to catch him at the clinic," Marie continued earnestly, "but he was pretty busy. And I don't want to show up on his door-step - even a decent guy can get the wrong idea if a gal does that. Is there a place where I can talk to him?"

"Well... there is something," the waitress said after a moment's thought. "He goes to a gym - it's called 'Clark's' - that's not too far from here. You might find him there after work."

* * *

Clark's was a run-down gym not too from the clinic and the diner. And that meant it wasn't too far from Blake's apartment. I knew the place. Once upon a time, it had been pretty well respected. It was the gym where hard young guys who were rising local boxers went to train. Trainers and fight promoters used to haunt the place, looking for talent-on-the-rise. But that had been twenty or thirty years ago. Mr. Clark had passed on and now the gym was more than a little run-down. Nowadays, the guys who were likely to practice at Clark's Gym were either has-beens or never-weres.

That's why it hurt to see Jack Murdock there. Marie actually bumped into him as we walked in the door.

Jack's reactions were still good. He snagged Marie by the shoulders and kept her from falling.

"W-whoa! Slow down d-d-darling!" he said with a smile. I noticed that he was being a little slow taking his hands off of Marie. On the other hand, she didn't seem to mind. She has thing for tough guys with a kind streak.

Battlin' Jack Murdock was a middle-weight who'd seen better days. Years ago, he came damn close to making it into the national circuit - and maybe even getting a shot at the title - but that didn't work out. Nowadays, there were more than a few gray hairs in the stubble on his cheeks and chin. Years in the ring had left a pattern of small scars scattered on his face and particularly around his eyes. His ears were cauliflowered. And his nose had been broken so many times that it was likely that he had problems breathing through it.

Jack originally came from New York city - Hell's Kitchen to be specific. One story is that he and Mattie had to leave New York in a hurry. Apparently Jack somehow got crosswise with the local mob. Another story had Jack leaving because of a broken heart. I've never met Mrs. Murdock, and Jack absolutely will not talk about her.

It chilled me to hear Jack stuttering. He didn't used to do that. A lifetime spent taking hard knocks to the head can do bad things to a man.

"Jack, how're you doing?" I asked softly. Jack hadn't noticed me since he still had his eyes - and paws - on Marie.

Jack finally looked past Marie.

"N-N-Neena?" he said in surprise as he finally let go of Marie. There was no mistaking the delight in his eyes.

There was a long pause. Then Jack took me in his arms and kissed me on the top of my head. I hugged him back... hard.

* * *

"How do you two know each other?" Marie asked.

The three of us were in the manager's office of Clark's gym. It turned out that Jack was making some spare cash running the place for the Clark family. We were clustered around the office's only desk and there was a bottle of Irish whiskey and a trio of shot-glasses on the desk itself.

"Jack taught me how to fight," I told Marie.

Jack gave Marie an elaborate and skeptical shrug. "I just showed Neena a few p-p-pointers," he insisted. "Sh-she was a n-n-natural."

Jack's charm was already having an effect on Marie. He has a way with people. Back in his younger days, I hear he was pretty good with the ladies.

"There were some boys in the neighborhood who were a little on the rough side," I told Marie. "They were a gang, but they were strictly small-time and mostly harmless. But then a guy took over who had ambitions. He decided he should run the neighborhood. In the process, he and some of his guys developed a mean streak."

"Billy Doul was his n-name," Jack reminisced. "A lot of bad th-th-th-things happened because of him."

I continued the story. "Anyway, I was just a kid when Billy made me an offer. I said no and he started slapping me around the street. Jack saw what was happening and sorted Billy out."

"He was a b-bit more r-respectful of the ladies after that," Jack chuckled.

"So I hear," I said as I reached over and affectionately squeezed Jack's hand. "Anyway, Jack here said he wouldn't always be around, so he offered to show me the basics of the womanly art of self-defense."

"I don't ap-p-prove of women hitting people," Jack told Marie, "but I really d-don't approve of the kind of men who h-hit women."

"What happened to Doul?" Marie asked, her eyes bright with interest.

"He eventually talked some other guys into actually trying something serious. They tried to rob a bank, but the cops heard about it first and were waiting for Billy and his crew. Billy's boys went to jail. Billy stopped a bullet and got an appointment with a cheap undertaker."

"Which one of you told the cops what Billy was planning?" Marie asked with a tiny smile.

Jack shrugged as he refreshed our glasses. I just smiled mysteriously.

Then I looked at Jack. "We hear there's a guy who comes here. He's a big blond fellow. He's also a doctor."

"D-D-Don Blake," Jack said with a contemplative nod. Then he knocked back his drink.

"What do you know about him?" Marie asked.

Jack gestured at me with his empty shot-glass. "H-h-he's one of you. Y'know, p-p-powers and all that."

* * *

Marie and I exchanged glances.

That was interesting. The ordinary folk of this town have a good grasp on the idea of people with powers. Given the sheer number of people like that who live here, that's inevitable. But a fighter like Jack tends to know more than most - it sort of ties into how fighters see the world.

"What's the deal with Blake?" I asked.

"H-h-he's stronger than man's need to sin," Jack replied with a roll of his eyes. "Normally he h-holds back. I could tell from the way he worked the b-bags. A lot of g-guys are like that. It's usually s-something in their h-heads. They just d-don't want to cut loose. Then one d-d-day a fella named Temple - a b-b-bad man - wanted to spar with Don. I was in the office, otherwise I would'na let it happen. Temple likes to f-find guys who're green and cut them up. But he misjudged Don. Misjudged him bad."

"What happened?" Marie asked as she leaned forward.

"The way I heard it, T-T-Temple started throwing low punches and going for Don's eyes with the eyelets of his gloves whenever they clinched. It's the-the-the usual dirty stuff Temple does to scare new guys. But D-Don didn't scare. He got mad instead."

Jack refilled his glass. "I h-heard some yelling an-and went into the gym to see what was happening. Temple was d-down - and he l-l-looked bad. It was Don himself who bandaged Temple up. One of the guys helped Temple get home."

Then Jack let out a long, tired-sounding, sigh.

"Don had a bruise or two, but h-he was fine. I-I took him into the office and asked him some questions. He admitted to being stronger than m-most. Said it was because he was raised on a farm, but I knew it was m-more than that. Temple's a jackass, but he's a decent fighter, and Don just took him apart. One of the g-guys who s-saw the fight later told me that Don knocked Temple right across the ring with his last punch. Temple hit the canvas hard and didn't m-move. E-everyone thought he was d-dead."

"I t-told Don that from then on he c-couldn't get into the ring unless he ch-ch-checked with me first. Don agreed to that. I was also gonna tell Temple to stay outta the gym, but he's never come back since Don took c-care of him. So I guess I owe D-Don for that."

I let out a long breath and glanced at Marie. She just shrugged.

"Does Blake ever talk about family?" I asked.

Jack shook his head.

"Does he have a girl?" Marie followed up.

Jack nodded. "Cute little thing. She's a nurse. N-never caught her name."

"Friends?"

Jack shrugged. "He kinda k-keeps to himself."

Something occurred to me. "Blake has a limp. He ever say how he got it?"

"No. I always figured it was an accident on the f-farm. Y'know even before the Temple f-fight a lot of guys didn't want to sp-sp-spar with Don. Doesn't seem r-right to get in a ring with a man who has trouble mo-moving. N-now guys know there a o-o-other reasons to stay away from Don."

"So who spars with him?" Marie asked suddenly.

Jack chuckled. "Me every n-now and th-then, but mostly with Matthew."

That made me raise an eyebrow. "Matt? How old is he? The last time I saw him he was just a kid."

Matt was Jack's son.

Jack laughed out loud. Then he turned his head towards the door.

"Hey, Matt!" he bellowed. "Get in here! Th-there's someone you wanna s-see."

After a few seconds Matt Murdock walked in the door. He must have been out of sight when Marie and I walked into the gym. He was wearing sneakers, shorts, and an armless t-shirt. There was a light sheen of sweat on his face and body.

"Yowza," Marie side-whispered to me.

I could see her point, but...

The red-hair was the same, but to say the least, Matt had grown up since I last saw him. He was now a full-grown man. I did some quick math in my head and realized that he was something like twenty years old. And he now had an extreme case of lean good-looks. In fact, he was the kind of guy who makes a women forget what our mamas told us about being good-girls.

Matt's eyes lit up when he saw me. "Neener!" he said in delight.

I didn't mind. Matt had a little bit of a lisp when he was a boy. That was what he called me when I babysat him. After that, it just sort of stuck.

* * *

Time flies. It flies and you get on with your life. I grew up, left town, did some shady stuff, worked for a secret part of the government, came back to town, became a bad-guy, gave up on being a bad-guy because my fellow bad-guys were idiots, married a good man, lost that good man, killed a lot of people to avenge that man, spread my legs for a bad man because he was sexy as hell and I needed to forget a lot of things, told the same bad man to kiss my ass and left, started a private eye business, hired a secretary who'd made the same mistake I did with that one blasted bad man... and then I fell in love with my secretary who, as it turns out, can do things with her tongue that actually are illegal in most states.

Time flies. And so much can happen in a dozen-or-so years. Jack wasn't the man he used to be. Little Mattie was all grown up.

And I was beginning to realize that I'd left too much behind, without so much as a backwards glance. I suddenly didn't feel good about that.

Both Jack and Matt said that Blake probably wasn't going to show up that night. Jack had to go back to running the gym, but Matt said he'd join us in the diner across the street for a cup of coffee. He had to take a shower first.

* * *

"Just think," Marie told me dreamily. She had a cup in both hands and was staring off into the distance. "Right now, he's naked in the showers. There are soap suds everywhere. His hands are roaming all over that young, firm, and oh-so-pretty body."

I winced. "Marie... he's just a kid."

That wasn't true, of course. But - for Pete's sake! - I used to make peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for Matt! I helped him with his homework!

"We should take Matt home and ravish him," Marie suggested. Now she was looking at me, with a wicked smile on her lips. "Maybe we could separate Doc Blake from his nurse and bring him along. Do you think the Doc is a all straight? Just imagine him and Matt together. I think Don would be the top, but you never know..."

I winced again. "Okay, now you're just being evil. Stop pretending to be such an incredible slut."

Marie just shook her head. "You've seen those two. All rules are out the window when you run into men like them."

By then Marie had a hand underneath the table and was toying with the fly of my pants. God knows what would have happened next if Matt hadn't walked in the door.

* * *

Matt had a fried-egg sandwich and coffee - something his dad always ordered. He and I spent a few minutes chatting. At first we mostly talked about people from the neighborhood, but then we caught up on current events.

It turned out that my little Mattie was in college.

"A law degree?" I said in surprise. Matt had always been a bright kid, but that was impressive.

"I hear you're a private eye," he said with the same big grin he had back before he could shave.

"Yep. Marie here is my partner."

Then Matt gave me a steady look. "Some folks say you do cases that involve people with powers."

Matt knew about me - thanks to my blue-white skin color and the patch-effect around my eye, most people know right off the bat that I'm different. Back when we were kids, I tried my best to explain powers and people who had them to Matt.

"Yeah," I said.

"Dad said you were asking about Don Blake," Matt said carefully.

"We've got a client who has some questions about him," I replied just as carefully.

Matt just shrugged. "Don's a decent guy. Yeah, he has powers and all that, but he's really not a part of that world. And he's serious about helping people. Do you know about the clinic where he works?"

"Yep," Marie said. "He and his friends are doing good work. But what do you know about him?"

Matt frowned. "Neena... I'm not sure I want to..."

I held a hand up. "Tell you what. Why don't you just tell us what he's like in the ring?"

Matt considered that. Then he nodded. That was the sort of thing fighters are always willing - hell, expected - to talk about.

"He hits hard," Matt began ruefully. "And even then you can tell that he's holding back. His limp makes him a little awkward, and I've been able to work with that, but it can be tricky. While you're too involved in trying to footwork some kind of position on him, he just winds up and hits you. He's favors his right-hand, but he's good at setting-up with his left. And you have to remember that his left jab is wicked fast. Once you get used to the fact he doesn't use his left much, he smacks you with it."

Matt paused.

"Anything else?" I asked.

Matt seemed to consider his answer before replying. "He's like dad. Every time you think you know all of his tricks and moves, he comes up with something you haven't seen before. If I had to guess, I'd say Don's done some pro-fighting. Maybe a lot of pro-fighting."

Marie frowned at that. "But wouldn't you have heard of him if that was true? And your father should definitely know about him."

Matt shrugged helplessly. "Apparently not. Dad and I've talked about it. He figures that Don probably fought in a state-wide semi-pro circuit back in Minnesota - back before whatever happened that crippled him. There are a lot of small circuits like that. Some darn good fighters who can't leave their home-state because of a job or their family fight in them."

I made a mental note about that. Pro-fights exist by selling tickets - which meant they have to be promoted and advertised. Maybe we could follow up on that.

* * *

Matt was gone - off to the library from some studying. Marie and I were walking back to our car.

"You're in danger," somebody said from a nearby alley.

Yeah. That really happened. I know it sounds like a bad pulp story, but life likes to throw you curves like that.

Marie and I automatically spread out. I was closer to the mouth of the alley, so I put my shoulder to the alley corner and checked it out. Marie got all the way out to the curb. I had a hand on the .45 in my shoulder-rig. Marie had her right hand in her purse.

The shabbily-dressed figure standing inside the alleyway just looked at us. It was the Tinman. He's fairly well-known around town, and most people figure he's just a derelict. About half of his face is covered with battered tin mask. He'd lost that part of his face back during the Great War.

Marie and I actually worked a case for him a while back. In the process we learned a lot of things. One of them was the Tinman's actual name.

"Hello, Dr. Strange," I said politely.

The good doctor nodded at us. "Hello, Domino. And you too, Marie."

* * *

As soon as we got back to the office, Sooraya made a tsking sound in Dr. Strange's direction. Then she dragged him to the bathroom and pushed him inside. Handing him a worn robe, a washcloth, and some soap, she told him to undress and give her his clothes. Then he was to use the bathroom sink to wash up.

When the door opened again the doctor looked a lot better. He handed Sooraya his roughly folded clothes.

"I'll get these washed and be right back," Sooraya told him primly. Then she left the room, holding the Doc's fragrant clothes at arms-length.

"Sooraya is an incredibly forward young lady," the doctor grumbled as he sat down in the office easy chair.

Marie put a tray in his lap. It had a plate with a sandwich and some coleslaw from the local diner.

"So are you," he informed Marie.

"Eat your dinner," Marie ordered.

The doc morosely picked up his sandwich.

Then, because I just couldn't resist, I asked, "So what's up, doc?"

Marie rolled her eyes.

"You know I understand that reference, don't you?" Doctor Strange told me. There was a touch of acid in his voice.

"That makes it even better," I shot back.

Marie perched a thigh on my desk as she listened to Strange and I banter back and forth. That made her skirt ride up enough to show one of her knees - and a pair of shapely calves. She was wearing silk stockings. I watched with some interest to see how Stephen would react to that.

He might be maimed and sort-of crazy, but Stephen Strange was still a man. I keep hoping that someday he'll find his way back from Belleau Wood. Doing something as mundane as checking out Marie's gams would be a good start.

Stephen didn't even blink, although he did dig into his meal. He had to hold his mask in place as he chewed.

"Why are we in danger?" I asked once he was done. Meanwhile, Marie pulled the tray off of his lap and handed him a cup of coffee and a straw. Stephen used the straw to sip the coffee. Most of it went down, but a trickle wandered out of the lower edge of his mask. Marie used a handkerchief to wipe it away, then handed the handkerchief to Stephen so he could take care of any other leaks.

Stephen took the straw out of his mouth. "That woman you're working for - Hela - and the man you are investigating - Donald Blake - are more than they seem. You are encountering impossibly powerful forces. You must be very careful."

Drumming my fingers on my desk, I stared at Stephen. I didn't really know how he knew so much about what Marie and I were doing, but if there was one thing I'd learned about Stephen Strange, it was that he had a way of knowing things. He also tended to be right.

"What kind of 'impossibly powerful forces' are you talking about, Doc?" Marie asked. She was back to leaning on my desk.

Stephen shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Just then, our client opened the door and walked into the room.

* * *

Hela was dressed more-or-less as I'd seen her before: high-heels, a long green ankle-length dress, gloves, and that eccentric hat with the halo of black spikes. But now she was also wearing a sheer black veil that covered her face and neck. However, her eyes were visible. The veil actually went well with her hat.

Stephen looked over his shoulder at Hela - and then went very still. Marie flinched. I involuntarily put my hand near the in-box on my desk. I keep a revolver stashed there.

I imagine we all looked like kids who'd just been caught playing a game of "show me yours and I'll show you mine".

Working the green gloves off of her hands, Hela looked us over. Because of the veil, the expression on her face was muted. However, her eyes seemed amused.

"What news?" she asked.

Then she glanced at Stephen. He was still peering over his shoulder at Hela, and his face was set and grim.

"A mage," Hela said thoughtfully. "I thought Midgard was done with your kind. Tell me, mage, why is your spirit still trembling to the roar of the great guns? That was long ago as your kind counts years. Are you truly so frightened of death?"

Something told me that I didn't want Hela focusing her attention on Stephen. So I immediately started talking.

"We've tracked down Doctor Blake," I began quickly. "We have the address of his apartment and where he works. He apparently comes from the small town of Northfield, Minnesota and moved here about six years ago. He has a medical degree at State University. He's currently working at a clinic that helps poor people who otherwise couldn't get a doctor's help. He works out at a local gym and does some boxing. He may have been a professional fighter somewhere along the line. He has a girlfriend who's a nurse at the clinic where he works. Everyone we've talked to seems to like him, but they also say that he mostly keeps to himself."

Hela stepped forward and put a long-nailed hand on Stephen's shoulder. Her nails dug in and Stephen winced, but his jaw tightened and he didn't make a sound.

"Are you interfering in my affairs, mage?" Hela asked Stephen. Her voice was mild - yet somehow still beyond cold.

Blood began to stain the shoulder of Stephen's robe.

"Blake has powers," I added coldly as my hand crept closer to the gun. I had to get Hela's attention.

Hela's eyes almost met mine and I quickly looked away. I couldn't help myself. In my time, I've handled some tough costumers with a smile and a wise-ass comment. But I knew - I just knew - that something like that would be disastrous if I tried it with Hela.

"Please... let him go," Marie added tensely.

Hela glanced at Marie, but did nothing else. Marie seemed to wilt under Hela's gaze.

Then Hela looked back at me.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look Hela in the eyes.

_As real as if it had just happened, I remembered the Russian who jumped me in Boston. I was only barely an adult, and I was already working for a hush-hush part of the State Department. I was following some men who might have been working for the Russian government, or might have been working to overthrow it - my bosses wanted to know which. It was after dark when the Russian cornered me in a quiet part of town. He had a knife. In the resulting fight, I took his knife from him. It ended up in his chest._

_I stood over the body, his knife in my trembling hand, as he gasped and spluttered blood. It took a terribly long time for him to die, and I watched every second of it._

_He was the first man I'd killed._

_Even today, after all these years, I sometimes see the Russian in my dreams - his eyes begging for just a few more seconds of life._

It took everything I had in me to speak.

"Hela, the only person who manhandles people in my office is me."

Hela released her grip on Stephen. He let out a hiss of relief. Hela's dark nails were red-stained with his blood.

And then Hela smiled. I swear, her teeth were like chips of sharp white diamond.

"What kind of power does Mr. Blake have?" Hela asked curiously. I had the impression that there was something about her question that amused her. She began idly wiping the blood away from her nails with one of her gloves.

"He's strong," I heard myself say. "A man challenged him to a boxing match and Blake almost put him in the hospital."

Hela nodded. "To be expected. Does he have any flaws? Something that makes him less than others? There should be something like that."

Her voice shaking, Marie took that one. "He's lame. He uses a cane to get around."

That answer seemed to please Hela.

"This woman he's with... is he sexing her?"

I shook my head. "We don't know."

"Find out. Does he have any companions?"

The image of Jack and Matt Murdock flickered through my mind.

"He's friendly with people, but nobody we've talked to seems to be close to him," I said.

Maybe I was lying to my client. I certainly wasn't telling her the complete truth. Something was telling me that I didn't want Jack and Mattie to catch Hela's attention.

Hela slowly nodded her head in a manner that suggested she was satisfied with my response.

"Investigate the woman," she told us.

Then she turned on her heel and left.

* * *

The laundry on the other side of the block has some fancy new coin-operated washing and drying machines. Sooraya was back with Stephen's clothes fairly quickly.

Still in the borrowed robe, Stephen was lying on the office couch, with a pillow under his head. Marie had bandaged his shoulder. There was a glass of whiskey balanced on his chest. A straw protruded from the glass.

"What happened?" Sooraya gasped after she saw Stephen's condition.

"Our client paid us a visit," I said grimly.

Marie looked at me. There was a coldly determined look on her face. "We've gotta drop this case."

"You can't," Stephen told us quietly.

"Why not?!" Marie shot back angrily.

"Hela is far too dangerous," Stephen replied with a wince as Sooraya double-checked his bandages. "And quite inexorable. Give her what she wants. Do absolutely nothing to offend her. As soon as she loses interest in your investigation, walk away and forget about her."

Marie gave me a desperate look.

I didn't know what to say. I'd looked into Hela's eyes. I had no idea what the blazes she was, but every instinct I had said that Stephen was right.

"Hela wants to know about the girlfriend," I heard myself say. "We'll do that."

* * *

It wasn't hard to get the name of Don Blake's girlfriend. We just asked around.

Her name was Jane Foster.

That evening, we parked our car near Don Blake's apartment and waited. It was cool, but not cold. The night sky was so clear that, despite the city-lights, we could see the stars.

"I think Hela is some sort of psychic," I told Marie. She was curled up in the front seat beside me, her head resting on my shoulder.

"She made me see something," I continued. "Back in the office, I looked into her eyes and she showed me the first man I killed. So, yeah, she can do at least some psychic stuff, but I think she's more than just that."

"What?"

I just shook my head. Once, Marie and I simply assumed anyone we ran into who was out of the ordinary was just another mutant - this town is loaded with them. But in the last few years we'd seen some very strange things.

Then Don and Jane come strolling down the street. They were both laughing about something. They way the walked next to each other - the expressions on their faces and the casually intimate way they talked - told you that they were a couple. A sense of goofy happiness seemed to flow off of them.

Jane was a medium-size dark-haired girl who was about the same age as Don. She was pretty, but not a knock-out. The long coat she was wearing mostly concealed a nurse's uniform, and she came up to about mid-chest height on her man.

"She's actually not short," Marie observed. "She just looks small compared to Blake."

I nodded in agreement.

At the door to the brownstone, the two of them exchanged a kiss. Then Blake opened the door and Jane didn't hesitate to follow him inside.

"And... fade to black," Marie said with a smile.

Then she turned serious again. "Dom, I really don't like this case."

I shook my head. "Tell me about it. Whatever Hela is, she's a nasty piece of work. I'm not sure I want to work for her, but Stephen thinks we shouldn't cross her."

Marie didn't argue with what I'd said. That was a measure of how seriously we took anything said by Stephen Strange.

"What we're doing is pretty straight-forward," Marie added thoughtfully. "Just surveillance and research. It's leg-work and Hela really doesn't need a pair of professionals for this job. You said she has flunkies. They could have done most of this. And, come to think of it, if Hela is some sort of psychic, what does she need us for? Couldn't she just do some Emma-kind of witchery and get all she needed from that?"

"We don't know what Hela really is," I countered, "and we don't know why she's so interested in a strong-as-hell doctor from Minnesota who has a limp and a charitable streak."

"Y'know, maybe we need to ask Stephen a few more questions."

"Good idea," I said as I turned on the engine.

As we drove away, there was a rumble of thunder. Then it began to rain.

* * *

Stephen was still back at the office. Sooraya had stayed late in order to keep an eye on him. He was working the crossword puzzle from the evening paper when we walked in the door.

Outside, the thunder still rolled. However, the rain was gentler than you might have thought.

Marie and I started with the questions. The answers we got were insane.

"Hela is the Norse goddess of death," Stephen told us. Then he went back to working the crossword puzzle.

Marie and I gave each other a long look. Sooraya didn't seem very surprised. She just kept on organizing some old case-files. She was born and raised in a place where supernatural explanations were a part of the -day-to-day world.

"Well, we asked," Marie told me with a shrug.

"Okay," I said as reasonably as possible. "So Hela is the goddess of death. Who's Don Blake?"

"The Norse god of thunder - his actual name is Thor." This time, Stephen didn't even look up from his crossword puzzle.

I considered that. Then I asked what I hoped was another reasonable question. "So why is Thor pretending to be a doctor here on Earth?"

Stephen replied immediately. "He is being punished for arrogance. I suppose a lesson is to be learned as a prince acts as a caregiver for mere mortals."

For a second, I thought I saw something bitter and mocking - maybe self-hating - on what was left of Stephen's face...

"Where does Jane Foster fit into this?" Marie asked. "Is she the goddess of something?"

That finally made Stephen look up. "Jane Foster? Who's she?"

"She's Donald Blake's... Thor's... girlfriend," I supplied. "She's a nurse at the clinic where Thor... Blake... works."

Stephen frowned. "Perhaps she is just a young lady who has made Dr. Blake's acquaintance?"

Marie tried to hide a smile. "I imagine they're acquaintancing the heck out of each other right now."

Right about then, another god walked through the door.

* * *

"For pity's sake," I heard Stephen mutter.

"Sir, we are closed," Sooraya informed our guest politely. "However, we will be open tomorrow at eight. May I take a message? Or would you care to make an appointment?"

The guy standing in the doorway was big and blocky. He had dark hair and a Fu-Manchu beard and mustache. There were scars on his hands and face that suggested he was no stranger to violence. He was dressed in an off-the-rack black suit and he looked a little uncomfortable in it. His boots didn't particularly match the suit - they were brown leather with some kind of fur uppers. He was also carrying an umbrella and that definitely didn't look right.

The big guy looked right passed Sooraya, taking inventory of everyone else in the room.

And for the second time that day, my hand crept closer to the hold-out pistol I keep in my in-box.

"Which of you is mistress here?" he asked. He had a guttural, but penetrating voice. It was the voice of a a man who doesn't do a lot of talking, and means everything he says.

I made a gesture with my left hand. My right hand was still near the in-box gun. "That's me. And the secretary you're ignoring is right when she told you that we're closed."

He declined to take the hint. "You are following a man named Blake. You will cease doing so. And you will tell me who you are working for."

Like Hela, his English was good. Like Hela, there was a trace of a familiar-yet-strange accent. The same kind of accent, as a matter of fact.

"Wow, is that not going to happen," Marie told him coldly.

Sooraya quickly retreated towards Stephen. Stephen put his whiskey on a nearby stand and slowly got up from the couch, his robe flapping around his skinny legs.

"Tell you what, why don't you get the hell out of my office?" I said tightly. I'd just about had my fill of big-mouthed foreigners who liked to give orders.

Something went flat and cold in the stranger's eyes. Another guy appeared in the door behind him. He was taller than the first guy, but more slender. He was wearing a garishly forest-green suit and was also carrying an umbrella.

And there were at least two more people in the hallway. One was a giant fat guy wearing - I'm not kidding - a red suit. There was also a woman in a long and dark dress. And there were more fucking umbrellas. I was beginning to worry about the umbrellas.

"Watch your tone, woman," the guy doing the talking said tightly.

"Domino..." Stephen said hesitantly.

"Hey, y'know what, sugar?" Marie snarled at the guy who was talking to us, "You can just go to hell."

Stephen grabbed Sooraya and dragged her to the far corner of the office. She didn't resist. They then did a dance where each tried to shove the other into the corner and get protectively in front. Under other circumstances, it would have been funny.

I pulled my revolver out of the in-box. Something was telling me that there was no point in half-measures.

The umbrella in the big-mouth's hand somehow turned into a huge mace. The umbrella of the guy-in-green turned into a sword. I didn't bother to notice what happened to the umbrellas of the other two people, but I figured it was much the same.

Marie immediately punched the guy with the mace right in his face. Then she grabbed him around the shoulders and hugged him - her bare cheek pressed up against his chin. His eyes glazed over as her power went to work, but he didn't collapse.

The guy dressed in green was moving towards Marie and he was damned fast. He was also handling his over-sized pig-sticker like he knew what he was doing. I shot the green-suit guy in the face. His head rocked back - and then he glared at me. The bullet furrow along the side of his face was cascading blood, but it looked like the bullet had bounced off of his cheekbone.

It all went downhill from there.

* * *

Marie and I were tied to a pair of chairs. Actually, it's tough to completely secure somebody that way. You have to know what you were doing. Unfortunately, our captors knew exactly what they were doing.

We weren't going anywhere.

I wasn't a hundred-percent sure, but I suspected we were in the basement of an abandoned shop that wasn't too far from the office. The guys who'd beat us up put bags over our heads before they dragged us out of the shambles of my office. They only took the bags off after we were safely tied down.

Sooraya and Stephen were standing against the far wall. Stephen had his arms protectively around Sooraya. A tall and dark-haired beauty was watching them. She was the lady I'd seen in the hallway outside my office. Now she had a sword in one hand. I was pleased to note the cuts, scrapes, and bruises on her face. Marie put most of them there, but I'd contributed the black eye that she was now sporting.

To say that she and her friends could fight was an understatement. They were deadly in close-quarters. Especially since all four of them had weaponizable umbrellas.

The big guy with the mace and the guy in the green suit weren't with us. I'd shot them both repeatedly and Marie had use her power on the big guy. With any luck, both of them were in the process of painfully bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere. However, I wasn't willing to bet on that.

In the center of the room was a table. The big, fat, red-headed, and bearded guy from the hallway outside my office was sitting at it. He was eating a meal that seemed to consist of three chickens, a bucket of fried potatoes, and a half-dozen big bottles of beer. He looked the best of anyone in the room - he'd hung back from the fight.

As I watched him eat, I suddenly realized that I was hungry.

I spat some blood onto the floor - I had a split-lip.

"Who the hell are you assholes?" I snarled.

The fat guy glanced up from his food. "You are here to answer questions, not ask them."

He had that same damned accent I'd been hearing a lot of lately. Frankly, I was now at the point that I kinda hoped to never hear it again.

I laughed. "Hey, fatso, do you know where you can shove your questions?"

The fat guy sighed and nodded towards the tall dark-haired woman.

Pulling a dagger out from somewhere, the dark woman walked over to Marie and I. I tested my ropes again...

Nothing.

The dark-haired woman quickly and efficiently cut Marie's dress off of her body. That left Marie in her underwear and shoes.

"Her friend called me fat," the fat guy said. He really sounded hurt.

The dark-haired woman neatly cut the join of Marie's bra. Then she used the knife to flip the bra open.

"Do I look fat to you?" the fat guy continued morosely.

"Yes," the woman told the fat guy. Then she kicked Marie's high-heels away.

Marie didn't look particularly scared. In fact, she just looked disgusted.

"Really?" Marie told the woman irritably. "Stripping an uncooperative prisoner is what they teach you in the first day of interrogation school. It's as subtle as teenage boy on his first date. I didn't think you were such an amateur."

Then she looked at the fat guy and said, "I've been naked in front of other people before. Hell, I used to work as a stripper. It's not a big deal."

The dark-haired woman actually smiled. The fat guy rolled his eyes and comforted himself with a chicken leg.

The woman shrugged and said, "You're brave."

Then she looked at Sooraya. "On the other hand, this young lady is obviously terrified."

Still in Stephen's arms, Sooraya shrunk back. I felt my mouth go dry as I tried to think of something to say. Once upon a time, Sooraya had been a slave for a man - a thing - who had made an art-form out of pain and degradation. She took years to partially recover. Now a lot of bad, bad, memories were suddenly coming back to her.

"Stop this," Stephen said in a startlingly firm voice. "This child was abused by a demon long ago. If you play your tricks with her, you will do a kind of damage to her that is unworthy of you."

The dark-haired lady bristled. "Don't tell me what to do, mage. You don't know who I am and what I am capable of doing!"

Then Stephen looked the dark-haired lady dead in the eye. "You are a noblewoman, a warrior, and a merciless foe of your lord's enemies. Tell me, is this frightened girl an enemy of your lord and your people? Does she deserve your fury?"

There was a pause after Stephen spoke. Incredibly, the dark-haired lady looked away.

"Who are you working for?" the fat guy said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Kiss my ass," Marie hissed at him.

"Go to hell," I growled.

"F...f...fuck off," Sooraya gasped out. "Fuck the fucking fuck off you fucking fuckers! I won't tell you anything!"

Then Sooraya hugged Stephen close and buried her face in his chest.

Marie looked at me. "Whoa... potty mouth. That's your fault."

I stared at Marie. "Really?! You're blaming me?! You swear like a sailor in front of her! All the time!"

Still looking at the fat guy and the dark-haired lady, Stephen sighed in exasperation. "They have a contract with Hela," he told them. "They are also loath to break it as a matter of professional honor. And Hela will destroy them if they do."

Shit... uh... I mean crap.

"Now, Lady Sif and Lord Volstagg," Stephen continued firmly. "Be true to who you are and let these people go."

* * *

And then they let us go. And some people say there are no surprises left in the world.

Marie was wearing a fur-trimmed coat that was about the size of a truck. Volstagg had given it to her.

"Flee," Sif advised us after she and Volstagg walked us up some stairs and out onto the cold street. "Hela is too much for you. If you are indeed merely hirelings, I suggest you get as far away from her as you can, and then pray that is far enough."

I didn't say anything. Neither did Marie. I had the feeling that Sif was right, and I could tell that Marie felt the same way.

Volstagg actually nodded amiably at us before he and Sif left us. "Do your best to keep your heads down. Otherwise you might lose them altogether."

He chuckled at his own wit as he turned away. He didn't seem to be holding a grudge.

Then Sif and Volstagg wandered off, vanishing down a poorly-lit section of street.

I looked at Stephen. "You're a man with a silver tongue," I said. I think there was some awe in my voice. Being reasonable almost never works in our line of work.

Stephen just shook his head. "They are not evil beings."

Then he grimaced. "But Hela is a different story."

As we talked, Sooraya flagged down a passing cab.

I looked at Marie. "You touched the big, dark, guy. What did you see?"

Marie's power works that way. In fact it should have leveled the big guy, but it was obvious that those four particular opponents weren't playing by the usual rules.

Marie tiredly rubbed her temples. "Stephen's right. Those four aren't bad-guys. They're from somewhere else, a place that isn't like our world. They have a code they believe in and a king they serve. Hogun - the guy I touched - he's... well... he's someone you'd want by your side in a tight spot. He didn't want to hurt us. He just wanted us to back the hell off, and that was as much for our good as anything else."

"They're keeping an eye on Don Blake because he really is Thor - and he's their friend. They're busting some rules being here, but they're willing to risk getting in trouble for him."

Then Marie looked me in the eyes. "We're in over our heads, Dom. What do we do?"

"We keep working the case," I told her. "It's all we can do."

* * *

I told Sooraya that I wanted her to leave town for a day or two. The case was becoming way too dangerous.

She refused, of course. Then I played my hole-card. I told her that her baby and husband might also be in danger. That convinced her. Stephen walked her home.

No surprise, but a pair of cops were waiting at the office. I told them I didn't know who had attacked us or why. Then I vaguely suggested that it might have something to do with an old case coming back to haunt us. After that, I distributed a few bucks. Both the cops and their questions vanished.

That's just how this town works.

It had turned into an unseasonably cold evening; a preview of winter. Marie and I went home for the night. The manager of our apartment building hadn't turned on the furnace, so it was pretty cool in our apartment. We painfully flopped onto the couch and I slipped my hands inside the vast coat the Marie was wearing. Thanks to the job Sif had done on Marie's outfit, all she had on underneath was her panties.

"Oh!" Marie gasped at the coldness of my hands. Then she smiled, opened the coat, and wrapped me up in it. Volstagg's coat was more than big enough for that. And it was actually pretty warm.

We spent the night like that, on the couch and keeping each other company.

* * *

"Jane? I was wondering if we could talk."

Up close, I could tell that Jane Foster was actually a few years younger than Marie or I. We'd followed her from the clinic to a local doughnut shop. I assumed she was picking up a morning snack for the staff.

"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously. She was dressed in her nurse's uniform, but the weather was still cold and she had a heavy coat over it.

I flashed my PI license. "My name's Dom. This is Marie."

She gave me a thoughtful look. "I've heard of you."

That made me hesitate. Domino Investigations is becoming fairly well known. I like to think that our rep is a good one, but it's not always a positive thing when people have a pre-existing opinion of you.

"Glad to hear it," I said neutrally. "I was hoping to ask you a few questions."

Actually, we were trying to get a feel for Foster herself, but that isn't exactly something you admit.

"What kind of questions?" Jane asked warily. She was examining our faces closely, probably cataloging the cuts and bruises we'd picked up from our scrape with Mr. Hogun and his friends.

"It's about your boyfriend," Marie broke in.

Jane's eyes went a little wide. "Don? What's wrong? "

Actually, I was pretty sure he was in deep trouble, but I couldn't exactly just up and tell Jane that.

"We have a client who's interested in Dr. Blake," I said carefully, trying not to say anything too revealing. "How long have you known him?"

"About six months," Jane said more-or-less guilelessly. "Look... what's this about?"

I looked at Marie. She shrugged at me.

"We've been hired to look into him," I said. "Nothing hostile - they just want information. We have every intention of talking to Dr. Blake, but as you probably know, he's a busy guy. We were hoping you could give us some background."

Jane's eyes went hard. We were losing her.

"We don't mean any harm to Don," Marie said softly. And that was true - we didn't mean him any harm at all. Our client on the other hand...

I told my conscience to sit down and shut up. It called me a nasty name that rhymed with "bore". The nature of the PI racket is that sometimes you take money for some questionable things. In this case, I was fairly sure that our options were limited to the point that we didn't have much choice.

"And we don't want to get him in any trouble," I added. "Look, just answer a few questions and we'll be on our way. And as soon as we get a chance, we'll talk with Don himself."

"How long have you two been together?" Marie added gently.

Jane was trying to look at both of us simultaneously. "Don and me? I mean... uhm..."

"Sugar," Marie said with a wide smile, "it's no secret at all that you and blondie are keeping each other company. And I'd say he's a fine catch."

You could see a decision appear on Foster's face. She would play along, trying to learn what she could about us. That's actually a common reaction from people we question. What they don't get is that we're pros and they're amateurs.

"We started going out just after he joined the clinic," Jane said.

"What's he like?" I asked.

"Your friend thinks he's a fine catch," Jane told me with a smile. "She's right. So who's your client?"

I tried to look regretful. "Sorry, but we can't talk about that. It's against the rules. I'm sure there are things about patients that you're not supposed to talk about. It's much the same thing with us."

"So are you and Don serious?" Marie added quickly. She had a "just-between-us-girls" look on her face. It's scary how good Marie can be at that sort of thing. Its one of the reason she's with me out on the street and no longer sitting behind a desk.

"I think so," Jane tried to say as blandly as possible. She might as well have held up a neon sign that said, "I'm in love!"

I hoped that wouldn't backfire on her.

"Ever met any of his family?" Marie asked with a raised eyebrow. "You've been together for six months. Maybe it's time for that."

Jane shook her head. "They're from another state. And Don doesn't talk about them. I think he doesn't get along with his father."

I gave Jane points for not being specific about Blake's home state. But she slipped a bit when she mentioned Blake's father.

"Does Don have any friends?" I asked.

Jane shrugged. "Just other people from work - they're more acquaintances than friends. Look, if you just tell me what you're looking for, maybe we can cut to the chase. I have to get back to work."

Then she picked up a box of freshly-made doughnuts that had been put on the counter in front of her. They smelled great.

"Maybe you could help set up a time and place when we could talk to Don?" I asked. Actually, it wouldn't be too hard to catch Blake on his way back and forth to work, but we were trying to appear on the up-and-up with Jane. And harmless people don't worry about introductions and appointments.

"I'll let him know you want to talk to him," Jane said. "You're in the phone book, right?"

"That'll work," I said. Then I got out a business card. Jane had her hands full with the box of doughnuts, so I tucked the card into the pocket of her coat.

"Thanks for the help," Marie said with another smile.

* * *

We picked up a couple of doughnuts and shared them as we talked out on the sidewalk. We could see Jane walking down the sidewalk, heading back to work.

"Well, she's got it bad," Marie observed. Then she took an unlady-like bite from her doughnut.

I swallowed some of my own doughnut. "Yeah. It's got to the stage where she's putting out for Blake. Jane strikes me as the kind of girl who takes that sort of thing seriously. Blake might even be her first and only. I'd say she's hearing wedding bells."

Marie frowned thoughtfully. "Do you think Blake feels the same way?"

I shrugged. "Seemed like it when we saw them the other day, but lots of guys have that look in their eyes right up until the moment a girl starts looking at white dresses. Then they panic and head for the hills. It doesn't help that there's something odd about Blake's background."

"You mean the part where he's literally supposed to be a god?" Marie asked with a grim chuckle.

"Yeah. I'm still not sure what to make of all that. When I was growing up, old Mrs. Beste down the block used to tell me and the other kids stories about Thor and Odin and all the..."

I paused.

Marie cocked her head at me. "What?"

"Odin is Thor's father," I said slowly.

Marie gave me a sharp look. "And Jane said something about Don being on the outs with his dad."

I nodded.

A thoughtful look on her face, Marie considered our options. "Is there any way we can work with that?"

"I'm not sure," I said slowly.

"Is it time we talked to Don himself?" Marie asked. She's not a telepath, but she's becoming good at reading my mind.

"Yep," I said.

* * *

We were waiting at the gym when Don Blake walked in the door. He had a clothes bag with him and a pair of gloves slung over his shoulder.

Matt was lifting weights over in the corner. He and Blake exchanged a nod. It was Matt who'd let us know Blake's usual schedule at the gym.

Marie was waiting at a nearby table. A stream of hopeful boxers kept wandering over, trying to make time with her. Marie had bounced them all with a combination of grace and good humor. One guy did seemed inclined to get a little pushy, but a couple of the other guys told him to cut it out. That was good. If Marie had to hurt someone, it would put a damper on our plan.

I was dressed in gym gear and working a speed-bag. Blake blinked when he saw me. There aren't too many ladies who hang out in gyms.

Stepping back from the bag, I wandered over to Blake. He watched me approach. He seemed more curious than anything else.

"I wanna spar," I told him.

He blinked in surprise. I was pretty sure he'd say no, but that was as good a way as any to start a conversation with him.

Then he surprised me.

"Of course," Blake said with a slow nod. "Just give me some time to change."

Wow. Even his voice was sexy.

* * *

"This is a gym - not some d-d-damn circus!" Matt proclaimed in his father's voice.

"Yeah, that sounds just like your dad," I told him resignedly.

"M-M-Men fighting women? Wadda wanna do? Make us look some kinda c-c-crazy l-l-liberals?" Matt continued.

Damn, he was good.

"Look, this might not be a good idea," Matt finally said in his own voice.

"I can handle a doctor with a limp," I said dismissively.

Matt gave me a long look. "I once said something like that. It was just before I fought Don for the first time. It took two weeks for my face to heal."

Blake came out of the dressing room. He had on shorts and boxing shoes. Without his cane, his limp was a little more pronounced. And you could see that one of his knees was strangely contorted.

And he had no shirt. No shirt at all.

To quote Marie: yowza.

I turned to Marie. "Lesbianism was maybe just a phase."

She smiled. "You'll be back."

Matt just looked at us and shook his head.

"Ready?" Blake said as he walked up to me.

I wasn't wearing a lot of clothes and Blake's eyes trailed over my body. Actually, I didn't mind. Guys are guys - and when it comes to things like that, men just more open about how they look at the opposite sex. And besides, it's great when someone actually looks at me when Marie's also around. She's normally the center of that kind of attention.

I heard Matt let out a little growl. Marie put a hand on his shoulder.

"Down, boy," Marie told him with a laugh. Matt looked embarrassed.

Then I stepped into the ring with someone who might be the god of thunder.

* * *

Like everyone said, Blake could hit hard. Harder than Logan. Harder than Hogun and his buddies. Harder the Fred Dukes. I had a sneaking suspicion that only Bruce Banner's hopefully-gone-forever alter ego was maybe stronger than Don Blake.

The good doctor almost KO'd me in the first round. I barely managed to snap my head back in time and not take the full force of a very fast left jab. As it was, my legs went wobbly, white spots danced in front of my eyes, and everything seemed to go out of focus. I frantically danced backwards until I slammed into the ropes, then I deliberately slid off to the side. Thanks to his limp, Blake had a problem pursuing me. That just barely gave me the time I needed to pull myself together.

I felt like an idiot. Matt had warned me about Blake's left hand, and then I went and almost fell for it.

I was landing a lot more punches than Blake. The problem was that they didn't seem to be doing anything. I might as well have been poking at a telephone pole. Meanwhile, I spent a lot of time ducking, dodging, and weaving in order to avoid catastrophe. After the first five seconds in the ring, I knew that I definitely didn't want Blake to land a solid punch on me.

It was like boxing with a freight train.

Even then, I could tell that Don wasn't giving the fight his all. And that was scary. Damn scary.

And then... about halfway through the second round.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF THE RING!" a familiar voice yelled.

Oops.

* * *

Battlin' Jack Murdock was angry. And a pissed-off Jack Murdock was a sight to behold.

"You," he said, pointing an uncompromising finger at Blake. "Wh-wha-what did I t-tell you about getting in the ring?"

"You have to approve," Blake said with what sounded like genuine regret in his voice.

"D-d-d-d-d-d-damn right!" Jack shot back.

Then he looked at me. "I musta m-m-missed the part w-w-where you bought a m-m-membership!"

"I'm a guest of a member," I protested carefully.

"Guilty," Matt said with a raised hand.

The made Jack pause. Then he shook his head. "Matt, I d-d-depend on you to show some s-s-sense when I ain't around," he growled.

Poor Matt looked suitable crushed.

"Look, Jack..." I began. I wanted to take some of the heat off of Matt. Hey, once you've babysat a kid, you never really stop.

Flames didn't shoot from Jack's eyes, but it was close enough that I suddenly felt the need to shut up.

"What's wrong w-with you, Neena? M-M-Men fighting women? Wadda wanna do? Make us look some k-kinda c-c-crazy l-l-liberals?"

It took everything I had not to laugh. I tried my best to look contrite. Matt had more practice than me. He managed to keep a perfectly straight face.

Then Jack glared at Marie.

"Hey! I didn't do anything!" she immediately protested.

That had no effect on Jack.

"Women as p-pretty as you!" Jack grumbled accusingly. "Everyone's b-brains turn to m-mush when y-y-you're around!"

Then he looked away from Marie - she looked really relieved.

"Blake!" Jake snarled. "Hit the showers! Matt, you too! Neena, put on some damn clothes and get out of here! And take your pretty lady-friend here with you!"

Then Jack stalked away. Anger followed him like a dark and particularly pissed-off cloud.

I looked at Blake. "Good fight. Hey, buy you a drink? There's a place down the block called Kelly's. I've heard they have some paint-stripper in the back room that isn't too bad as long as you hold your nose."

Blake gave me a long look. Then he chuckled and slowly nodded his head.

"Certainly," he said to me.

* * *

I've downed drinks in far better places than Kelly's, but it just happened to be the closest speak-easy. And my description of the whiskey was fairly accurate. Some of the neighborhood boys brewed it in their bathtubs. It wasn't exactly what you call finely crafted and properly aged.

"Marie and I are private eyes," I told Blake once we'd all somehow choked down the first shot.

"I know," Blake said as he skeptically examined the plain bottle that we were drinking from. There was stuff floating in it. "Jane told me about you. You asked her questions about me."

Then he put the bottle down and looked at us. "Jane doesn't trust you. Or like you."

"Can't say I blame her," Marie said as she hesitantly picked up the bottle and poured herself another shot. "Nobody likes to have strangers poking their noses into their business."

Blake looked us both over carefully. "What do you want to know about me?"

"Our client hired us to check you out. They didn't say why, and we didn't ask."

Leaning back in his chair, Blake examined us with narrowed eyes. "What have you found?"

I looked Blake over for a second or two before responding. "You're supposed to be from Minnesota - a small town called Northfield - but we can't trace anything about you back to there. You moved here about six years ago and attended school at State University. After you got your medical degree, you went to work at the clinic. You have an apartment, a pretty girlfriend, a hobby that involves beating people up, and almost no other traceable background. Frankly, Doctor Blake, you're kind of suspicious."

"How so?" Blake asked.

"We can't find any real information about your past," I admitted. "You simply seemed to appear in this town. And since then, you haven't left much of a footprint. I used to work for the government, Doctor Blake. When we bumped into people without a past, we got interested. It usually meant they were hiding something. Maybe they were on the run from the law. Maybe they were in the country illegally. Maybe they were spies. Maybe they'd simply walked away from their old lives for reasons good or bad. Which is it with you, Doc?"

Blake looked into his glass for a while. "You're right. I've left my old life behind. I disagreed with my father and he cast me out."

"Would your father's name happen to be Odin?" I asked cautiously. In the light of day, this particular part of the conversation suddenly seemed so ridiculous...

"And your real name is Thor?" Marie added.

Now Blake was looking at both of us very closely. "Why would you think that?"

We didn't want Blake to know about Stephen, so we improvised.

"We bumped into some friends of yours - or at least we think they're friends," Marie said. "A tall and handsome lady, a dark and forbidding sort of guy, another guy who reminds me a lot of Errol Flynn, and a third guy whose belly is as big as a Buick. We had a disagreement and there was a fight. Unless they did a great job of lying, I'd say they're honestly worried about you."

Now Blake looked astounded. "Really? They're here? When did you see them?"

"Last night," I replied.

Blake smiled and shook his head.

Marie kept talking. "Look, Doc, is it too much to suggest that you get out of town? You know... dig a hole, jump in, and fill it in behind you? Our client is kinda scary."

"And you can't tell me who your client is?" Blake asked.

Marie and I both shook our heads.

* * *

The conversation didn't go much longer than that. In the end, Doc Blake didn't tell us much. He didn't confirm that he was Thor or that his dad was Odin. He also didn't deny any of it.

Outside of Kelly's, I squinted up at the sun. It was a bright and clear day, but it still seemed to be getting colder.

"Now what?" Marie asked.

"Report to the client and hope she's done with us," I said with a shrug.

"Hope..." Marie said without much conviction. It was like she didn't believe in the word.

"Hope is generally a lie," somebody told us.

* * *

This case was filled with people who approached us completely out of the blue.

This one was tall, but slender. His shoes and dark suit were expensive - way too expensive for that part of town. He wasn't wearing a hat, and his hair was dark and slicked back in a style I've never liked. His most outstanding feature was a pair of emerald-green eyes.

He was handsome, but there was something about his face that I found unappealing. Something sardonic and smug. I could tell that he thought a lot of himself and didn't think too much of anyone else.

And he had that same damn accent we'd been hearing a lot of lately.

"Let me guess," I said as I looked him up and down. "You're the god of weasels?"

Marie looked away as she choked down a laugh.

"Hardly," he said with a slow smile. "However, I can help you. I have some vital information pertaining to your case."

"How do you know about our case?" Marie asked suspiciously.

The stranger kept smiling at us, "I'm a part of this... mess... you've found yourself trapped within. Hela, Thor, and the other strange people you've encountered? I'm one of them."

"What do you want?" I asked bleakly.

The stranger frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see... a series of abjectly degrading sexual acts? Your first-born children? Or perhaps the still-beating heart of a treasured family member or a true love?"

Marie and I stared at him. I casually put my hand inside my coat, my fingers brushing up against the grip of my semi-automatic. Gunfire hadn't done much against Hogun and his friends, but then again I hadn't tried shooting anyone in the eye yet. And this guy's striking green eyes were an easy-to-spot target.

"Or perhaps I might help you because it suits my purposes," the stranger added hastily.

I still kept my hand on my gun.

"Keep talking," Marie ordered coldly.

That smug, acidic, smile was back on the stranger's face.

"Why," he said, "I happen to know a great truth. And, after all, finding the truth is what you do, isn't it? And isn't the truth what Hela desires?"

Then he began laughing.

"If you have something to say, spit it out," I ordered.

The stranger stopped laughing. Then he looked at me.

"Miss Foster is pregnant," he said. "She is carrying Thor's child. I'd say she is two months along."

* * *

We were back at the Carlton Hotel. After the desk clerk contacted our client on the house phone, I went upstairs. Marie stayed in the lobby, watching for any of the far too many freaks who were also involved in this case. The idea was that she'd call Hela's room on the hotel phone if somebody hinky walked into the lobby.

A couple of tough-looking flunkies greeted me at Hela's door. They were big and had the dead-eyes of killers. Both were wearing crappy suits. One had the characteristic chest bulge of a guy carrying heat in a shoulder holster. The other - I swear I'm not joking - had a battle-axe in one hand.

They stepped aside and allowed me to enter. There were another two thugs in the suite's living room, sitting on the couch. They were morosely eating Chinese take-out as they looked at me. A Browning automatic rifle and a broadsword were resting on a coffee table. A couple of long spears were leaning against the back of the couch.

Without asking, a tough-faced blonde with a jagged scar running down the side of her face and neck searched me. She noted my M1911, but didn't take it from me. She spent a lot of time searching my breasts.

When she was done, I reaching over and checked out her breasts as well. They were medium-sized, firm, and very cuppable.

"Nice," I complimented her once I was done.

There was a tiny glimmer of a smile on the blonde's face as she stepped to the side and waved me towards a door on the far side of the suite. It obviously led to a bedroom.

Hela met me in the bedroom. She was wearing a green silk robe and a pair of fuzzy slippers. The brawny-looking guy who was dead-asleep in her bed was covered by a sheet and blanket, but I was willing to bet he wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Hela's eyes followed mine. Then she smiled narrowly. "He's adequate," she informed me. "You may try him if you wish."

"No, thanks," I told her dryly. "We checked out Doctor Blake's girl for you."

Hela sat down in a chair that faced a cosmetics table. She contemplated herself in the mirror, but didn't seem inclined to adjust her makeup. As near as I could tell, she wasn't wearing any. She just seemed curious.

"What did you learn about her?" she asked. As she spoke, Hela picked up a pot of expensive facial powder and sniffed it cautiously. It must have been something that the hotel provided as a courtesy. Hela didn't seem to know what it was for.

"Her name is Jane Foster. She's a nurse at the clinic where Blake works. She was born and raised here in town and her father is a pharmacist. Miss Foster apparently has an idealistic streak - she went to nursing school and then got a job helping the poor. She and Blake have been together since he started working at the clinic. I mean that literally. They went out to dinner together right after his first day on the job."

"So are they sharing a bed?" Hela continued distractedly. Now she'd opened a lipstick and was giving it a skeptical look.

I took a deep breath before continuing.

"I'd say so," I replied steadily. "We were told that Foster is pregnant. We aren't sure if..."

I didn't get to finish what I was saying. Hela dropped the lipstick. It bounced off the table - leaving a streak of pink-red - and then fell to the carpeted floor. The expression on her face was one of complete rage.

* * *

Still wearing nothing but a robe, Hela stormed out of the room. I followed her, my heart in my mouth.

But when I got out into the living room, Hela was nowhere to be seen. She and all of her flunkies were just gone, and so were their weapons. That was impossible, I'd been right on her heels...

"Dammit!" I hissed.

Not bothering with the elevator, I sprinted down the stairs. It was quite a few flights. Marie was waiting for me in the lobby.

"Did you see Hela?!" I gasped out.

"No... what the blazes happened?" Marie asked. She was examining me carefully, and was obviously worried.

"I told her about Foster. Then she ran out of the room and vanished! She didn't come down on the elevator?"

"No!" Marie growled as she automatically looked around. There was nothing to see.

"Are you saying that bitch is a teleporter?" Marie added.

I shrugged that off.

"She's after Blake and Foster," I hissed, still trying to catch my breath. "I told Hela that Jane might be pregnant and she went nuts."

"Jane. She's after Jane," Marie said immediately. There was no doubt in her voice. Then she grabbed me by the arm and began dragging me towards the hotel entrance.

"I saw it in Hela's eyes the other night," Marie continued urgently. "It was when she asked about Blake and Foster. The thought that he was with someone bothered her. It bothered her a lot."

By then we were out on the sidewalk. I fumbled the keys out of my pocket - the car was parked across the street.

"Wait... you think Hela's in love with Blake? And she's jealous?" That really didn't fit with my estimation of Hela's character. But then again, I hadn't expected Hela to jump right off the deep end and go raging out of the hotel wearing nothing more than a robe, and with an armed band of killers on her slippered heels.

As we crossed the street, a speeding Ford barely braked to a halt in time. The guy behind the wheel honked angrily at us.

"I don't know!" Marie shot back, "but the first thing Hela asked when we told her Blake had a girl was whether or not they were doing it! That's important to her for some reason!"

We piled into the car.

* * *

We braked to a halt in front of Blake's apartment. The front door was shattered open, with fragments scattered across the stairs, the sidewalk, and the room inside.

Then one of Hela's bruisers went flying out of a window. Covered in drapes, he crashed to the sidewalk. He was the guy who'd been carrying a battle-axe. He still had it in his hand as he staggered to his feet.

"Hela!" I screamed as we jumped out of the car. "Domino Investigations hereby resigns from your case!"

Then I double-tapped the guy with the battle-axe in the sternum. Much to my surprise, he went down.

Stephen Strange wasn't going to be happy with me. I'd wandered about as far from his advice as possible.

We could hear the sound of a fight coming from Blake's apartment. Marie sprinted to the window and jumped inside. I took the door.

There was a tumult of bodies in the apartment. It looked like Don Blake was fighting a squad of Hela's thugs all by himself. Marie dove into that fight, grabbing one of the thugs by his wrists from behind. He stiffened and then collapsed.

The blonde girl who'd so ambitiously searched me back at the hotel had Jane in a head-lock and was dragging her towards the door. Standing in the apartment doorway, I leveled my weapon at the blonde.

Then Hela reached around from the other side of the door, grabbed me by the shoulders, whirled me into the room, and viciously slammed me against the brick wall.

I let out an anguished scream as I felt bones break.

"Your resignation is accepted," Hela told me. She was definitely amused. She also had me pinned to the wall by my shoulders.

I awkwardly put my .45 against the bridge of Hela's nose and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Hela let go of me and I fell to the floor. I could feel broken ribs shifting around in my chest and, dear God, that hurt.

Part of Hela's face had been blown off. I could see red meat and bone, but Hela was still on her feet. She launched a kick at me. I barely rolled away in time. Her foot connected with the door-frame. That side of the frame and a chunk of the brick wall tore loose and scattered across the sidewalk and street outside. Dust and debris filled the air.

I shot Hela in her exposed inner thigh. I got lucky - that's something I do - and that blew open the big artery in her leg. For most people that would be a death sentence, but I was willing to bet it wouldn't work that way with Hela. On the other hand, she did loose her balance and stagger off to the side.

At that moment Don Blake - Thor - tore loose from his attackers, and picked up a table that was piled high with books. The books flew wildly through the air as Blake swung the table at the blonde who was clutching Jane Foster. The edge of the table connected with the blonde's head. Then the blonde flew across the room, her head at a decidedly strange angle. Jane tumbled loose. Hela ignored me as she lunged for Jane. Blood was cascading like twin waterfalls from Hela's face and leg, but she didn't seem to care.

Don vanished under a swarm of weapon-wielding bodies. Meanwhile, Marie intercepted Hela with a diving tackle. I tried to scream at Marie to forget the fight and run, but I was choking from the dust in the air. The blood trickling into my lungs was also a problem. I was pretty sure that Hela had killed me. It was just a matter of how long I could move and fight before the lights went permanently out.

Marie was on her knees, with her arms wrapped around Hela's blood-soaked legs. She was trying to overbalance Hela, but that wasn't happening. Hela was simply too strong. Marie's hands were in contact with Hela's bare skin, but that also didn't seem to be having much effect. That did leave me with a reasonably clear shot at Hela's upper body. I was too hurt to be tricky, so I put a shot into her chest. I saw another gout of blood.

Snarling at me, Hela reached down and grabbed Marie by the hair. She yanked Marie to her feet, effortlessly breaking Marie's grip. Then Hela put Marie in a hold that would end with Marie's neck broken.

I shot Hela in the shoulder. More blood... and it did delay her.

In the background, Don had grabbed a guy by the legs and was flailing him against the apartment floor. The floor was breaking into splintered wood while blood and body-parts flew through the air. And while that was happening, more of Hela's guys were still trying to swarm over Don. Hogun and Fandral came through the window and pitched in, mace and sword swinging with awful precision.

Then a guy with a two-handed sword - the damn thing was almost as tall as he was - staggered over to me began to swing the sword at me. I was moving so slow. I tried to aim at him, but everything hurt, there was blood and dust in my eyes, and I couldn't get a clear sight-picture.

In desperation, I fired the last shot in my M1911. I don't know if it hit or missed.

That was it. I knew it. I was done and, even worse, so was Marie.

Suddenly, a length of gnarled wood flew across the room and caught the sword-slinger who was about to kill me in the forehead. The sword-guy went down and out. Then, of all people, Matt dashed across the room, grabbed me, and began dragging me away. He was the one who'd knocked out the guy with the sword.

At the same time, Volstagg stormed into the apartment, racing past me and Matt. He slammed into Hela like an over-sized bowling ball. Both Hela and Marie went flying. Volstagg rebounded backwards and ended up flat on his back.

I hazily remembered that I was in my old neighborhood. Jack and Matt lived not that far away.

A head bounced and rolled past me. Sif had just decapitated one of Hela's gang. She moved purposefully past me and towards Hela, kicking the head out of her way. Meanwhile, Blake - Thor - broke yet another bad-guy across his knee. I could hear at least a dozen bones splinter to pieces when he did that.

Hela used her arm to block a sword-thrust from Sif. Then she back-handed Sif across the room. A wall caved-in around Sif when she hit it.

Matt gave me a long and scared look. Then he tucked me against the wall, grabbed that stray hunk of wood - I suddenly recognized it as Don Blake's distorted and ugly cane - and whipped it at Hela herself.

Maybe I imagined it, but it seemed as if Blake noticed Matt's throw. Then he yelled something in a language I didn't know. It sounded like an order.

There was an awesome sound, like God's artillery pounding the world flat. It was so loud that it was beyond the mere concept of noise. For an odd, fading, moment I wondered it that was what Doc Strange heard in his dreams.

Then I realized what I was actually hearing.

It was thunder. The kind of thunder only heard at the end of the world.

Matt's throw leveled Hela. She ended up flat on her back and the right-side of her chest was caved-in. And even then she was stirring.

I somehow managed to get on my knees. I shakily tried to reload my handgun, but everything was beginning to fade in and out.

Then a huge armored hand appeared on my shoulder.

"Stop," a gruff voice ordered. It wasn't very loud, but it carried vast authority. How the hell any of us could hear that simple command after that massive howl of thunder was a damn good question.

Everyone froze. Even Hela - although from where she lay, I could see a glare on what was left of her face. I also seemed to me that her face was beginning to knit together.

I glanced up. A tall figure loomed by my side. My vision was failing, but I had an impression of a broad build, ancient armor, gray-white hair, and an eye-patch.

And then I collapsed.

* * *

It's amazing what Don Blake's dad can accomplish with a blink of his one eye. Marie and I were more-or-less healed of our worst injuries, although we both still hurt like hell.

The office was still a wreck from our fight with Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, and Sif. The manager was sending some guys around tomorrow to take care of the structural damage. It would be up to Domino Investigations to repair and replace the furniture and equipment.

Our land-lady - a woman named Emma Frost - had already called and renewed her standing offer to take care of the rent and everything else in exchange for some very personal services from me. I don't think she really believes I'll ever go for it, but she seems to have a lot of fun asking. She gets very explicit. Emma's the only woman I know who can say "cunnilingus" and it sounds erotic instead of clinical.

My now-battered desk was missing a leg and tottering unsteadily - I'd put some books underneath the missing leg in a semi-succesful effort to stabilize it. That took care of some of the problem, but not all.

My chair was still intact, although pretty scratched up. The client's chair was missing most of its back and a lot of upholstery thanks to a long and deep sword-slash. Lady Sif was sitting in it anyway. My impression is that she's a rather severe gal who doesn't hold with too much luxury. Instead of a dress, she was wearing some kind of leather armor. I had to admit that it looked good on her.

Despite what I'd seen at Blake's apartment, the scar-faced blonde woman who'd been working for Hela was still alive. She was kneeling on the floor next to Sif. There was a dog-collar around her neck, and a chain-leash ran from the collar to Sif's hand. Otherwise, the blonde was barefoot and wearing a a simple, white, one-piece dress. I also had the impression that she had nothing on under the dress. It seemed like not enough for the time of year.

"The All-Father sends his regards," Sif told us stiffly. Honestly, I don't think she knows quite what to make of Marie and I.

The feeling is mutual.

I nodded my head. "Tell your boss that we're happy to have been of service, but please don't call us or include us in any future events that involve Asgard."

Marie nodded in pained agreement. After the fight in the apartment - and after Odin healed us - Sif and Volstagg had made an effort to explain the details of what the hell was going on. Hogun and Fandral were still being standoffish. I think Marie and I embarrassed them by doing a lot better than we should have in our fight with them.

A smile quirked across Sif's lips. Then she casually ran her hand through the kneeling blonde's hair. Not only did the blonde not seem bothered by that, she smiled in obvious pleasure and rubbed the side of her head cat-like against Sif's thigh.

It occured to me that the blonde really seemed to prefer her new boss to her old one.

"You've caught the All-Father's attention," Sif warned us. "If he ever desires your services, you will have little choice."

Great. Just great.

I pulled the bag of diamonds from my desk drawer and tossed it to Sif.

"These came from Hela," I told her. "I don't want them."

Sif nodded in approval. "That's wise. Very wise. I'll have them sent back to Asgard."

Then I reached into one of my desk side-drawers and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. I had no idea how it had survived the fight. I didn't even bother to look for glasses. I just extracted the cork with my teeth and took a long and burning slug. Then I leaned over and handed the bottle to Sif. She took a deep pull and passed the bottle to Marie. Apparently the blonde wasn't allowed to have any.

"What's the deal with Hela?" I asked.

It seemed to me that the blonde cringed slightly at the mention of Hela's name.

"She's back where she belongs," Sif replied after a moment of hesitation.

"And what about Jane and Th... uh... Don?" Marie asked softly.

"I don't know the details, but Thor has a different identity and no longer resides in this city," Sif told us. "Do not attempt to find him. Those words come from the All-Father himself. Heed them."

"And Jane?" Marie persisted.

"She is being cared for," Sif replied shortly.

Then she paused, looked at Marie and I, and sighed. "I know that is not answer enough for you two. But I swear to you that Jane is healthy and safe. So is her unborn child."

Marie's eyes narrowed. "Is Jane with Don?"

"No."

Marie put the bottle down on the floor with a thump. "Dammit, Sif! Jane's going to be a single mother. That's not easy! She'll need help!"

Sif took a deep breath. "Believe me when I say that Jane is being well provided for. She is, after all, carrying the grandchild of the All-Father. Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg have been tasked with protecting her."

I looked at Marie, "They're a tough bunch. And they're Thor's friends. They'll do their best for Jane."

After a pause, Marie nodded in reluctant agreement.

"What about you?" I asked. "Are you going to be watching Jane with the others?"

"No," Sif replied stolidly. "I'm to be punished. The All-Father has decreed that I will remain here on Earth. However, I am to have no contact with the others and must live as a mortal."

The kneeling blonde gave Sif a consoling kiss on the thigh.

"What? Why?" Marie asked irritably.

Sif actually looked a little embarrassed. "I told the All-Father that it was my idea to come to Midgard and watch over Thor. And that I used my womanly wiles to convince the others to help me. I said they were like clay in my hands."

I raised an eyebrow. Marie also looked a little doubtful.

"I needed to keep the three of them out of trouble," Sif explained. "I was hoping that the All-Father would assign them to guard Jane."

"And Odin fell for that?" I asked skeptically.

"I appears so," Sif said with the tiniest possible smile.

"So what are you going to do?" Marie asked curiously.

Sif shrugged again. "I'm not sure. And I will have to make a living somehow. I get the impression that in this age there isn't a great call for sword-maidens on Midgard."

Then she looked at Marie. "You said something that I assumed meant it is still possible to earn a wage as an unclothed dancer?"

"Uh... yeah," Marie replied slowly. "The best of the burlesque-halls downtown is called the 'Red Fox'. There's also nightclub called 'Remy's'. You can pull down a lot of tip-money there, but it has really long hours and the owner thinks he's charming. Avoid the 'Hellfire Club' - the place is a freak show and you have to do a lot more than just dance."

Then Marie looked at the blonde kneeling at Sif's feet. "Or maybe you'll fit in just fine at the 'Hellfire Club'. Your call."

Sif nodded. Then she stood up. The blonde also wordlessly got to her feet. I tried to imagine either of them in feathers, beads, fake jewelry, makeup, a pair of high-heels... and nothing else. I couldn't really see it, but the possibility was intriguing.

"Hey, what was Hela's problem?" Marie asked. There was more than a little exasperation in her voice. "Why was she here? Why did she go bonkers when she found out that Jane was pregnant?"

Sif seemed to ponder her answer for a while. Then she responded. "There is a legend - a prophecy actually. Hela occupies an important part in that prophecy. However, the prophecy does not allow for Thor to have a child by a daughter of Midgard. Hela thought that the baby in Jane's belly was a threat to that future. Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. I don't know."

"What future?" I asked.

Sif shrugged and got to her feet. "The one that will arrive no matter what we do. Hela is a fool to think otherwise."

Then, with the blonde trailing behind her on the leash, Sif began to leave.

"Hey!" Marie suddenly yelled.

Sif and the blonde turned to look at her.

Marie pointed at the blonde. "Are you okay with this? Do you want to be with Sif?"

Sif actually rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, the blonde woman smiled - her scar distorting the right side of her lips - and then turned her head and licked Sif's ear.

"Okay," Marie said grudgingly.

Our visitors left the office.

* * *

Two weeks later:

I bought a membership at 'Clark's'. Then, after a great deal of pleading, wheedling, and no little emotional blackmail, Jack finally relented and let me workout there. Matt was my usual opponent when I sparred.

Matt and I finished up a three-round session and got out of the ring. Jack handed us a pair of towels. He supervises our matches lest something happen that offends his sense of true rightness even more than my mere presence. I once kissed Matt on the forehead after a particulary intense exchange where he got the better of me. The next day there was a giant sign on the wall with a glowering message that kissing was strictly forbidden in the ring.

My revenge was to wait until the gym was full and then sit in Jack's lap, call him "Daddy" in my most sexy voice, and start nibbling on his neck. Everyone in the gym damn near died laughing. I thought Jack was going to have a heart-attack.

"M-M-Mattie, your dancing b-back too quick," Jack said very seriously. "It's taking power out of your p-punches. N-N-Neena, you're signaling your left h-h-hook by dropping your shoulder. The next match, I want to see you both working on th-th-those problems."

We both listened respectfully to Jack's words. The old bull isn't as fast and strong as he used to be, but he still knew more about boxing that both of us combined.

We toweled off. Most of the other guys assumed Matt and I were a couple, which cut down on the potential problems of having me hang out in such a male-heavy place. I'd only had to deal with a couple of guys who had more ambition than common sense.

I couldn't use the showers - I think Jack's head would have exploded at the very idea. So Matt and I put on another layer of clothes and went across the street to the diner.

Matt was using Blake's cane. He'd been carrying it ever since the fight with Hela.

Ever since Blake disappeared.

"When are you going to stop hauling that thing around?" I asked after we ordered coffee and pie.

Matt smiled, but there was something sad in it. The cane - it was a gnarled, twisted, and butt-ugly thing - was resting on the table next to him. He gave it an affectionate rub.

"Don's a great guy. Maybe someday I can give this back to him."

I opened my mouth to tell Matt that he would never see Don again. Then I shut it.

Who really knows what the future holds?

"I've got to tell you," Matt added hesitantly. "It does seem weird to carry it. Don... well... he did a lot of good things for people. I'm not sure I'm worthy to carrying this thing around for him."

I didn't even hesitate.

"You're worthy," I told Matt.

* * *

Two months later:

Marie and I were working yet another case - this time a surveillance job in New York city. Marie and I had followed a perhaps-cheating wife all the way into Times Square.

Unfortunately, the weather was turning on us. A gray front of clouds was rolling in from the west. Following someone in a snowstorm can be tricky.

"Look," Marie said quietly. Then she nodded her head towards the far side of the street.

I glanced in that direction.

Hogun had just got out of a taxi and was scanning his surroundings. He was dressed the same as when we first saw him. And he was still carrying his umbrella of doom.

He blinked when his eyes met ours. By then Fandral had got out of the other side of the taxi. He followed Hogun's gaze. Fandral smiled broadly when he saw us, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. Then he quickly rechecked the area, just in case Marie and I were a diversion.

Volstagg - as enormous as ever - got out of the passenger seat of the cab. You could almost hear the taxi groan in relief. He dashed around the cab to Hogun's side and lent an arm to Jane Foster as she exited.

Jane was dressed expensively, but with a sense of restraint and taste that struck me as typical of her. Her belly featured a definite bulge.

I couldn't help but smile. When I first met Jane I'd categorized her as cute, but not beautiful. Now, she was lovely beyond words.

Overhead, there was a rumble of thunder - unusual for approaching snow. Jane glanced upwards, and in that moment I could see a terrible loneliness within her. Unfortunately for Jane, I didn't think it was ever going to end.

The man Jane had thought was hers had always been a mask over something else. Donald Blake wasn't just gone - he'd never existed. He was a man who never was.

It finally began to snow. Volstagg hurriedly escorted Jane into a store, although I had the strangest impression that the snow was not actually landing on her. Fandral was at their backs. Hogun stayed on the sidewalk, ignoring the weather as he watched us. His head was cocked slightly to one side.

Marie blew him a kiss. For some reason, I did the same. Hogun actually smiled - he strikes me as the type who allows himself one or two of those a decade. Then he turned away and followed the others inside.

**Author's Note:**

> This one is kind of hard to explain.
> 
> Years ago, when the late, lamented "Wolverine and the X-Men" animated show was on TV, I had an online discussion with a lady who went by the handle kelly1_watxm. Somehow, we got off on a tangent and discussed an alternative world where Domino was a tough 1920s-30s private eye and Rogue was her loyal and beautiful gal-friday/secretary. The idea got stuck in my head and this story was the result -- and I've been writing additional chapters for ca. 5 years now.
> 
> This series actually does incorporate some aspects of the "Wolverine and the X-Men" animated series. For one thing, the 'text' was only barely 'sub' between Domino and Rogue in that show.


End file.
